fV! 


A 


A2i 


THE 


PHILOSOPHY   OF   RHETORIC, 


GEORGE  CAMPBELL,  D.D.,  F.R.S.  Edin. 

PRINCIPAL   OF    THE    MARISCHAL   COLLEGE,    ABERDEEN 


Ceito  sciant  homines,  artes  inTeniendi  sohdas  et  veras  adolescere  et  incrementa  n 
mere  cum  ipsis  mventis  — Bac    De  Augm  Scient.,  1  v  ,  c  3. 


A  NEW  EDITION, 

WITU   THK  ACTHOB'S  LA.ST   Ai>OITIONS  AND  CORRECTIONS 


NEW    YORK; 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 
>^  329&331PEARLSTREET, 

KRANKLIN    SQUARE. 

1854. 


<  ISANTA  BARBAEA 


PREFACE. 


Theue  are  several  reasons  whirh  have  induced  ihe 
author  of  the  following  sheets  to  give  the  public  so  lie 
account  of  their  origin  and  progress,  previously  to  th  ^ir 
coming  under  its  examination.  They  are  a  series  of 
Essays  closely  connected  with  one  another,  and  writ- 
ten on  a  subject  in  the  examination  of  which  he  has 
at  intervals  employed  himself  for  a  considerable  part 
of  his  life.  Considered  separately,  each  may  justly  be 
termed  a  whole,  and  complete  in  itself;  taken  togeth- 
er, they  are  constituent  parts  of  one  work.  The  au- 
thor entered  on  this  inquiry  as  early  as  the  year  1750  ; 
and  it  was  then  that  the  first  two  chapters  of  the  first 
book  were  composed.  These  he  intended  as  a  sort  of 
groundwork  to  the  whole.  And  the  judicious  reader 
will  perceive  that,  in  raising  the  superstructure,  he  has 
entirely  conformed  to  the  plan  there  delineated.  That 
first  outline  he  showed  soon  after  to  several  of  his  ac- 
quaintance, some  of  whom  are  still  living.  In  the  year 
1757  it  was  read  to  a  private  literary  society,  of  which 
the  author  had  the  honour  to  be  a  member.  It  was  a 
difference  in  his  situation  at  that  time,  and  his  connex- 
ion with  the  gentlemen  of  that  society,  some  of  whom 
have  since  honourably  distinguished  themselves  in  the 
republic  of  letters,  that  induced  him  to  resume  a  sub- 
ject which  he  had  so  long  laid  aside.  The  three  fol- 
lowing years  all  the  other  chapters  of  that  book,  ex- 
cept the  third,  the  sixth,  and  the  tenth,  which  have 
been  but  lately  added  (rather  as  illustrations  and  con- 


jV  PREFACE. 

firmations  of  some  parts  of  the  work,  than  as  essential 
to  it),  were  composed,  and  submitted  to  the  judgment 
of  the  same  ingenuous  friends.  All  that  follows  on  the 
subject  of  Elocution  hath  also  undergone  the  same  re- 
view. Nor  has  there  been  any  material  alteration 
made  on  these,  or  any  addition  to  them,  except  in  a 
few  instances  of. notes,  examples,  and  verbal  correc- 
tions, since  they  were  composed 

It  is  also  proper  to  observe  here,  that  since  trans- 
cribing the  present  work  for  the  press,  a  manuscript 
was  put  into  his  hands  by  Doctor  Beattie,  at  the  very 
time  that,  in  order  to  be  favoured  with  the  doctor's 
opinion  of  this  performance,  the  author  gave  him  the 
first  book  for  his  perusal.  Doctor  Beattie's  tract  is 
called  An  Essay  on  Laughter  and  Ludicrous  Writing. 
While  the  author  carefully  perused  that  Essay,  it  gave 
him  a  very  agreeable  surprise  to  discover  that,  on  a 
question  so  nice  and  curious,  there  should,  without  any 
previous  communication,  be  so  remarkable  a  coinci- 
dence of  sentiments  in  everything  wherein  their  sub- 
jects coincide.  A  man  must  have  an  uncommon  con- 
fidence in  his  own  faculties  (I  might  have  said  in  his 
own  infallibility)  who  is  not  sensibly  more  satisfied  of 
the  justness  of  their  procedure,  especially  in  abstract 
matters,  when  he  discovers  such  a  concurrence  with 
the  ideas  and  reasoning  of  writers  of  discernment. 
The  subject  of  that  piece  is,  indeed.  Laughter  in  gen- 
eral, with  an  inquiry  into  those  qualities  in  the  object 
by  which  it  is  excited.  The  investigation  is  conducted 
with  the  greatest  acccr^isy,  and  the  theory  confirmed 
and  illustrated  by  such  a  variety  of  pertinent  examples, 
as  enable  us  to  scrutinize  his  doctrine  on  every  side, 
and  view  it  in  almost  every  possible  light.  He  does 
not  enter  into  the  specif  c  characters  whereby  wit  and 


PREFACE.  V 

humour  are  discriminated,  which  arc  the  chief  consid- 
erations here.  His  design  leads  him  to  consider  rather 
those  particulars  wherein  they  all  agree,  than  those 
wherein  they  differ.  He  treats  of  ludicrous  objects 
and  ludicrous  writing,  with  a  view  to  account  for  the 
superior  copiousness  and  refinement  of  modern  ridicule. 
When  philosophical  acuteness  is  happily  united  with  so 
great  richness  of  fancy  and  mastery  in  language,  the 
obscurity  in  which  a  subject  was  formerly  involved 
vanishes  entirely,  and  a  reader  unacquainted  with  all 
other  theories  and  hypotheses,  can  hardly  be  persua- 
ded that  there  was  ever  any  difficulty  in  the  question. 
But  there  is  reason  to  think  that  the  world  will  soon  be 
favoured  with  an  opportunity  of  judging  for  itself  in  re- 
gard to  the  merits  of  that  performance. 

One  reason,  though  not  the  only  one  which  the  au- 
thor has  for  mentioning  the  manner  wherein  the  com* 
position  of  this  work  has  been  conducted,  and  the  time 
it  has  taken,  is  not  to  enhance  its  value  with  the  pub- 
lic, but  to  apologize  in  some  measure  for  thai  inequal- 
ity in  the  execution  and  the  style,  with  which  he  is 
afraid  it  will  be  thought  chargeable.  It  is  his  purpose 
in  this  work,  on  the  one  hand,  to  exhibit,  he  does  not 
say  a  correct  map,  but  a  tolerable  sketch  of  the  human 
mind  ;  and,  aided  by  the  lights  which  the  poet  and  the 
orator  so  amply  furnish,  to  disclose  its  secret  move- 
ments, tracing  its  principal  channels  of  perception  and 
action,  as  near  as  possible,  to  their  source  :  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  from  the  science  of  human  nature,  to  as- 
certain, with  greater  precision,  the  radical  principles 
of  that  art,  whose  object  it  is,  by  the  use  of  language, 
to  opprate  on  the  soul  of  the  hearer,  in  the  way  of  in- 
forming, convincing,  pleasing,  moving,  or  persuading. 
In  the  prosecution  of  a  design  so  extensive  there  are 

A.2 


VI  PREFACE. 

two  extremes  to  be  shunned.  One  is,  too  much  ab- 
straction in  investigating  causes ;  the  other,  too  much 
minuteness  in  speciiying  cflccts.  By  the  first,  tiie  per- 
spicuity of  a  performance  may  be  endangered  ;  by  the 
second,  its  dignity  may  be  sacrificed.  The  author  does 
not  flatter  himself  so  far  as  to  imagine  that  he  hath 
succeeded  perfectly  in  his  endeavours  to  avoid  either 
extreme.  In  a  work  of  this  kind,  it  is  impossible  that 
everything  should  be  alike  perspicuous  to  every  read- 
er, or  that  all  the  parts  should  be  equally  elevated. 
Variety  in  this  respect,  as  well  as  in  others,  is  perhaps, 
on  the  whole,  more  pleasing  and  more  instructive  than 
too  scrupulous  a  uniformity.  To  the  eye  the  inter- 
change of  hill  and  dale  beautifies  the  prospect ;  and  to 
the  ear  there  is  no  music  in  monotony.  The  author 
can  truly  say,  that  he  has  endeavoured,  as  much  as  he 
could,  in  the  most  abstruse  questions,  to  avoid  obscu- 
rity ;  and  in  regard  to  such  of  his  i-emarks  as  may  be 
thought  too  minute  and  particular,  if  just,  they  will 
not,  he  hopes,  on  a  re-examination,  be  deemed  of  no 
consequence.  Those  may  serve  to  illustrate  a  gener- 
al observation,  which  are  scarcely  worth  notice  as 
subjects  either  of  censure  or  of  praise.  Nor  is  there 
Anything  in  this  book  which,  in  his  opinion,  will  cre- 
ate even  the  smallest  difficulty  to  persons  accustomed 
lo  inquire  into  the  faculties  of  the  mind.  Indeed,  the 
much  greater  part  of  it  will,  he  is  persuaded,  be  level 
to  the  -capacity  of  all  those  readers  (not,  perhaps,  the 
most  numerous  class)  who  think  reflection  of  some  use 
in  reading,  and  who  do  not  read  merely  with  the  inten- 
tion of  killing  time. 

He  begs  leave  to  add,  that  though  his  subject  be 
Eloquence,  yet,  as  the  nature  of  his  work  is  didactical, 
wherein  the  understanding  only  is  addressed,  the  style 


PREFACE.  VU 

in  general  admits  no  higher  quaUties  than  purity  and 
perspicuity.  These  were,  therefore,  his  highest  aim. 
The  best  ornaments  out  of  place  are  not  only  unbc 
coming,  but  offensive.  Nor  can  anything  be  farther 
from  his  thoughts  than  to  pretend  to  an  exemption  from 
such  positive  faults  in  expression,  as,  on  the  article  of 
elocution,  he  hath  so  freely  criticised  in  the  best  Eng- 
lish authors.  He  is  entirely  sensible  that  an  impropri- 
ety or  other  negligence  in  style  will  escape  the  notice 
of  the  writer,  which  hardly  escapes  that  of  anybody 
3lse.  Next  to  the  purpose  of  illustrating  the  principles 
and  canons  which  he  here  submits  to  the  judgment  of 
the  public,  the  two  following  motives  weighed  most 
with  the  author  in  inducing  him  to  use  so  much  free- 
dom in  regard  to  the  writings  of  those  for  whom  he 
has  the  highest  veneration.  One  is,  to  show  that  we 
ought  in  writing,  as  in  other  things,  carefully  to  beware 
of  implicit  attachment  and  servile  imitation,  even  when 
\hey  seem  to  be  claimed  by  the  most  celebrated  names. 
The  other  is,  to  evince  that  we  are  in  danger  of  doing 
great  injustice  to  a  work  by  deciding  hastily  on  its 
merit  from  a  collection  of  such  oversights.  If  the  critic 
be  rigorous  in  marking  whatever  is  amiss  in  this  way, 
what  author  may  abide  the  trial  ?  But  though  such 
slips  are  not  to  be  regarded  as  the  sole  or  even  princi- 
pal test  of  demerit  in  literary  productions,  they  ought 
not  to  be  altogether  overlooked.  Whatever  is  faulty 
in  any  degree  it  were  better  to  avoid.  And  there  are 
consequences  regarding  the  language  in  general,  as 
well  as  the  success  of  particular  works,  which  should 
preserve  verbal  criticism  from  being  considered  as  be- 
neath the  attention  of  any  author.  An  author,  so  far 
from  having  reason  to  be  offended,  is  doubtless  obliged 
to  the  1  a  who,  free  from  captious  petulance,  candidly 
Do;n*s  out  Ivs  errors,  of  what  kind  soever  thev  be. 


CONTENTS. 


Iktroduction 13 

BOOK  I. 

THE  NATURE  AND  FOUNDATIONS  OF  ELOQUENCE. 

CHAP.  I.  Eloquence  in  the  largest  Acceptance  defined,  its  more  general  Forms 

exhibited,  with  their  different  Objects,  Ends,  and  Characters 23 

CHAP.  II.  Of  Wit,  Humour,  and  Ridicule 30 

Sect.  I.  Of  Wit ib. 

Sect.  II.  Of  Humour 37 

Sect.  III.  Of  Ridicule 42 

CHAP.  III.  The  Doctrine  of  the  preceding  Chapter  defended 49 

Sect.  I.  Aristotle's  Account  of  ^7ie  iJiiiici/Zous  explained ib. 

Sect.  II.^  Hobbes's  Account  of  Laughter  examined 50 

CHAP.  IV'.  Of  the  Relation  which  Eloquence  bears  to  Logic  and  to  Grammar..  54 
CHAP.  V.   Of  the  different  Sources  of  Evidence,  and  the  different  Subjects  to 

which  they  are  respectively  adapted 57 

Sect.  I.  Of  Intuitive  Evidence ib 

Part  I.  Mathematical  Axioms ib 

Part  II.  Consciousness 59 

Part  III.  Common  Sense 60 

Sect.  II.  Of  Deductive  Evidence 65 

Part  I.  Division  of  the  Subject  into  Scientific  and  Moral,  with  the  principal 

Distinctions  between  them ib. 

Part  II.  The  Nature  and  Origin  of  Experience 69 

Part  III.  The  Subdivisions  of  Moral  Reasoning 70 

1.  Experience 72 

2.  Analogy   75 

3.  Testimony 76 

4.  Calculations  of  Chances 78 

Part  IV.  The  Superiority  of  Scientific  Evidence  re-e.vamined 80 

CHAP.  VI.  Of  the  Nature  and  Use  of  the  scholastic  Art  of  Syllogizing 83 

CHAP.  VII.  Of  the  C(msideration  which  the  Speaker  ought  to  have  of  the  Hear- 
ers as  Men  in  general 93 

Sect.  I.  As  endowed  with  Understanding 95 

Sect.  II.  As  endowed  with  Imagination ib. 

Sect.  III.  As  endowed  with  Memory 97 

Sect.  IV.  As  endowed  with  Passions 99 

Sect.  V.  The  Circumstances  that  are  chiefly  instrumental  in  operating  on 

the  Passions 103 

Part  I.  Probability 1 04 

Part  II.  Plausibility ib. 

Part  III.  Importance 108 

Part  IV.  Proximity  of  Time 109 

Part  V.  Connexion  of  Place 110 

Part  VI.  Relation  to  the  Persons  concerned Ill 

Part  VII.  Interest  in  the  Consequences ib. 

Sect.  VI.  Other  Passions,  as  well  as  Moral  Sentiments,  useful  Auxiliaries...   112 

Sect.  VII.  How  an  unfavourable  Passion  must  be  calmed 115 

CHAP.  VIII.  Of  the  Consideration  which  the  Speaker  ought  to  have  of  the  Hear- 
ers as  such  Men  in  particular 117 

CHAP.  IX.  Of  the  Consideration  which  the  Speaker  ought  to  have  of  himself  .   118 
CHAP.  X.  The  different  Kinds  of  public  Speaking  in  use  among  the  Moderns, 

compared  with  a  View  to  their  difi^erent  Advantages  in  respect  of  Eloquenco  191 

Sect.  I.  In  regard  to  the  Speaker ib. 

Sect.  II.  In  regard  to  the  Persons  addressed 124 

Sect.  III.  In  regard  to  the  Subject 126 

Sect.  IV.  In  regard  to  tl>o  Occasion 128 


X  CONTENTS. 

Sect.  V.  In  regard  to  the  End  in  view 130 

CHAP.  XI.  Of  the  Cause  of  that  Pleasure  which  we  receire  from  Objects  or 

Representations  that  excite  Pity  and  other  painful  Feelings 134 

Sect.  I.  The  different  S(dutions  hitherto  given  by  Philosophers,  examined...  136 

Part  I.  The  first  Hypothesis «*• 

Part  II.  The  second  II)T)othesis 137 

Part  HI.  The  third  Uvpothesis HO 

Part  IV.  The  fourth  Hypothesis 145 

Sect.  II.  The  Author's  Hypothesis  on  this  Subject 151 

BOOK    II, 

THE   FOUNDATIOMS   AND   ESSENTIAL   PROPERTIES    OF   ELOCUTION. 
CHAP.  I.  The  Nature  and  Characters  of  the  Use  which  gives  Law  to  Language  162 

Sect.  I.  Reputable  Use 164 

Sect.  II.  National  Use 168 

Sect.  HI.  Present  Use 1"0 

CHAP.  II.  The  Nature  and  Use  of  Verbal  Criticism,  with  its  principal  Canons.   174 

Sect.  I.  Good  Use  not  always  Uniform  in  her  Decisions 176 

Canon  the  First 177 

Canon  the  Second  179 

Canon  the  Third 181 

Canon  the  Fourth il>. 

Canon  the  Fifth 182 

Sect.  II.  Everything  favoured  by  good  Use,  not  on  that  Account  worthy  to  be 

retained • 183 

Canon  the  Sixth 184 

Canon  the  Seventh 187 

Canon  the  Eighth 18g 

Canon  the  Ninth  ■••• 18 

CHAP.  HI.  Of  grammatical  Purity 192 

Sect.  I.  The  Barbarism ib. 

Part  I.  By  the  Use  of  obsolete  Words ib. 

Part  H.  By  the  Use  of  new  Words 195 

Part  III.  By  the  Use  of  good  Words  new  modelled 197 

Sect.  H.  The  Solecism 202 

Sect.  HI.  The  Impropriety 213 

Part  I.  Impropriety  in  single  Words ib. 

Part  H.  Impropriety  in  Phrases 224 

CHAP.  IV.  Some  grammatical  Doubts  in  regard  to  English  Construction  stated 

and  examined 227 

CHAP.  V.  Of  the  Qualities  of  Style  strictly  Rhetorical 237 

CHAP.  VI.  Of  Perspicuity 239 

Sect.  I.  The  Obscure ib. 

Part  I.  From  Defect ib. 

Part  II.  From  bad  Arrangement 242 

Part  HI.  From  using  the  same  Word  in  different  Senses 245 

Part  IV.  From  an  uncertain  Reference  in  Pronouns  and  Relatives  ........  246 

Part  V.  From  too  Artificial  a  Structure  of  the  Sentence 247 

Part  VI.  From  technical  Terms ib. 

Part  VII.  From  long  Sentences 248 

Sect.  H.  The  double  Meaning 249 

tart  I.  Equivocation ib. 

Part  II.  Ambiguity. 253 

Sect.  HI.  The  Unintelligible 266 

Part  I.  From  Confusion  of  Thought ib. 

Part  II.  From  Atl'ectation  of  Excellence 268 

Part  HI.  From  Want  of  Meaning 270 

Under  this  the  various  Kinds  of  Nonsense ; 

1.  The  Puerile 271 

2.  The  Learned 273 

3.  The  Profound ' 275 

4.  The  Mar\ellou3 276 

CHAP.  VII.  What  is  the  Cause  that  Nonsense  so  often  escapes  being  detected, 

both  by  the  Writer  and  by  the  Reader  ? 278 

Sect.  I.  The  Nature  and  Power  of  Signs,  both  in  speaking  and  in  thinking. .    ib. 
Sect.  II.  The  Application  of  the  preceding  Principles 28* 


CONTENTS.  XI 

P»S» 
CHAP.  VIll.  The  extensive  Usefulness  of  Perspicuity 295 

Sect.  I.  When  is  Obscurity  apposite,  if  ever  it  be  apposite,  and  what  kind '.    t6. 

Sect.  II.  Objections  answered 300 

CHAP.  IX.  May  there  not  be  an  Excess  of  Perspicuity  T 305 

BOOK   III. 

THE   DISCKIMINATINO   PROPERTIES    OF   ELOCUTION. 

CHAP  I.  Of  Vivacity  as  depending  on  the  Choice  of  Words 307 

Sect.  I.  Proper  Terms ib. 

Sect.  II.  Rhetorical  Tropes S15 

Part  I.  Preliminary  Observations  concerning  Tropes ib. 

Part  II.  The  different  Sorts  of  Tropes  conducive  to  Vivacity 321 

1.  The  Less  for  the  more  General ib. 

2.  The  most  interesting  Circumstance  distinguished 322 

3.  Things  Sensible  for  things  Intelligible 325 

4.  Things  Animate  for  things  Lifeless 327 

Part  III.  The  Use  of  those  Tropes  which  are  obstructive  to  Vivacity 331 

Sect.  III.  Words  considered  as  Sounds 338 

Part  I.  WTiat  are  articulate  Sounds  capable  of  imitating,  and  in  what  Degree  ?  339 
Part  II.  In  what  Esteem  ought  this  Kind  of  Imitation  to  be  held,  and  when 

ought  it  to  be  attempted? 351 

CHAP.  II.  Of  Vivacity  as  depending  on  the  Number  of  the  Words 353 

Sect.  I.  This  Quality  explained  and  exemplified ib. 

Sect.  II.  The  principal  Offences  against  Brevity  considered 358 

Part  I.  Tautology ib. 

Part  II.  Pleonasm 360 

Part  III.  Verbosity 363 

CHAP.  III.  Of  Vivacity  as  depending  on  the  Arrangement  of  the  Words 372 

Sect.  I.  Of  the  Nature  of  Arrangement,  and  the  principal  Division  of  Senten- 
ces     ib. 

Sect.  II.  Simple  Sentences 374 

Sect.  III.  Complex  Sentences 38fe 

Part  I.  Subdivision  of  these  into  Periods  and  loose  Sentences ib. 

Part  II.  Observations  on  Periods,  and  on  the  Use  of  Antithesis  in  the  Compo- 
sition of  Sentences • 29S 

Part  III.  Observations  on  loose  Sentences 401 

Part  IV.  Review  of  what  has  been  deduced  above  in  regard  to  Arrangement  403 
CHAP.  IV.  Of  the  Connectives  employed  in  combining  the  Parts  of  a  Sentence  404 

Sect.  I.  Of  Conjunctions 405 

Sect.  II.  Of  other  Connectives 41 1 

Sect.  III.  Modem  Languages  compared  with  Greek  and  Latin,  particularly  in 

regard  to  the  Composition  of  Sentences 419 

CHAP.  V.  Of  the  Connectives  employed  in  combining  the  Sentences  in  a  Dis- 
course    423 

Sect.  1.  The  Necessity  of  Connectives  for  this  Purpose ti. 

Sect.  II.  Observations  on  the  Manner  of  using  the  Connectives  in  combining 
Sentences 424 


INTRODUCTION 


All  art  is  founded  in  science,  and  the  science  is  of  little 
value  which  does  not  serve  as  a  foundation  to  some  benefi- 
cial art.  On  the  most  sublime  of  all  sciences,  theology  and 
ethics,  is  built  the  most  important  of  all  arts,  the  art  of  living. 
The  abstract  mathematical  sciences  serve  as  a  groundwork 
to  the  arts  of  tlie  land-measurer  and  the  accountant ;  and  in 
conjunction  with  natural  philosophy,  including- geography  and 
astronomy,  to  those  of  the  architect,  the  navigator,  the  dial- 
ist,  and  many  others.  Of  what  consequence  anatomy  is  to 
surgery,  and  that  part  of  physiology  which  teaches  the  laws 
of  gravitation  and  of  motion,  is  to  the  artificer,  is  a  matter 
too  obvious  to  need  illustration.  The  general  remark  might, 
if  necessary,  be  exemplified  throughout  the  whole  circle  of 
'arts,  both  useful  and  elegant.  Valuable  knowledge,  there- 
fore, always  leads  to  some  practical  skill,  and  is  perfected 
in  it.  On  the  other  hand,  the  practical  skill  loses  much  of 
its  beauty  and  extensive  utility  which  does  not  originate  in 
knowledge.  There  is,  by  consequence,  a  natural  relation  be- 
tween the  sciences  and  the  arts,  like  that  which  subsists  be- 
tween the  parent  and  the  off'spring. 

I  acknowledge,  indeed,  that  these  are  sometimes  unnatu- 
rally separated ;  and  that  by  the  mere  influence  of  example 
on  the  one  hand,  and  imitation  on  the  other,  some  progress 
may  be  made  in  an  art,  without  the  knowledge  of  the  princi- 
ples from  which  it  sprang.  By  the  help  of  a  few  rules,  which 
men  are  taught  to  use  mechanically,  a  good  practical  arith- 
metician may  be  formed,  who  neither  knows  the  reasons  on 
which  the  rules  he  works  by  Avere  first  established,  nor  ever 
thinks  it  of  any  moment  to  inquire  into  them.  In  like  man- 
ner, we  frequently  meet  with  expert  artisans,  who  are  igno- 
rant of  the  six  mechanical  powers,  which,  though  in  tlic  ex- 
ercise of  their  profession  they  daily  employ,  they  do  not  un- 
derstand the  principles  whereby,  in  any  instance,  the  result 
of  their  application  is  ascertained.  The  propagation  of  the 
arts  may  therefore  be  compared  more  justly  to  that  variety 
which  takes  place  in  the  vegetable  kingdom,  than  to  the  uni- 
formity which  obtains  universally  in  the  animal  world ;  for, 
as  to  the  anomalous  race  of  zoophytes,  I  do  not  comprehend 
them  in  the  number.  It  is  not  Always  necessary  that  the 
plant  spring  from  the  seed,  a  slip  from  another  plant  will  oft- 
en answer  the  purpose. 

There  is,  however,  a  very  considerable  difference  in  the 
B 


14  INTRODUCTION. 

expectations  that  may  justly  be  raised  from  the  different 
methods  followed  in  the  acquisition  of  the  art.  Improve- 
ments, unless  in  extraordinary  instances  of  genius  and  sa- 
gacity, are  not  to  be  expected  from  those  who  have  acquired 
all  their  dexterity  from  imitation  and  habit.  One  who  has 
had  an  education  no  better  than  that  of  an  ordinary  mechan- 
ic, may  prove  an  excellent  manual  operator ;  but  it  is  only 
in  the  well-instructed  mechanician  that  you  would  expect  to 
find  a  good  machinist.  The  analogy  to  vegetation  above 
suggested  holds  here  also.  The  offset  is  commonly  no 
more  than  a  mere  copy  of  the  parent  plant.  It  is  from  the 
seed  only  you  can  expect,  with  the  aid  of  proper  culture,  to 
produce  new  varieties,  and  even  to  make  improvements  on 
the  species.  "  Expert  men,"  says  Lord  Bacon, "  can  execute 
and  judge  of  particulars,  one  by  one..;  but  the  general  coun- 
cils, and  the  plots  and  marshalling  of  affairs,  come  best  from 
those  that  are  learned." 

Indeed,  in  almost  every  art,  even  as  used  by  mere  practi- 
tioners, there  are  certain  rules,  as  hath  been  already  hinted, 
which  must  carefully  be  followed,  and  which  serve  the  artist 
instead  of  principles.  An  acquaintance  with  these  is  one 
step,  and  but  one  step,  towards  science.  Thus,  in  the  com- 
mon books  of  arithmetic,  intended  solely  for  practice,  the 
rules  laid  down  for  the  ordinary  operations,  as  for  numera- 
tion, or  numerical  notation,  addition,  subtraction,  multiplica- 
tion, division,  and  a  few  others,  which  are  sufficient  for  all 
the  purposes  of  the  accountant,  serve  instead  of  principles ; 
and,  to  a  superficial  observer,  may  be  thought  to  supersede 
the  study  of  anything  farther.  But  tlieir  utility  reaches  a 
very  little  way,  compared  with  that  which  results  from  the 
knowledge  of  the  foundations  of  the  art,  and  of  what  has  been, 
not  unfitly,  styled  arithmetic  universal.  It  may  be  justly  said 
that,  without  some  portion  of  this  knowledge,  the  practical 
rules  had  never  been  invented.  Besides,  if  by  these  the  par- 
ticular questions  which  come  exactly  within  the  description 
of  the  rule  may  be  solved,  by  the  other  such  general  rules 
themselves,  as  serve  for  the  solution  of  endless  particulars, 
may  be  discovered. 

The  case,  I  own,  is  somewhat  different  with  those  arts 
which  are  entirely  founded  on  experiment  and  observation, 
and  are  not  derived,  like  pure  mathematics,  from  abstract  and 
universal  axioms.  But  even  in  these,  when  we  rise  from  the 
individual  to  the  species,  from  the  species  to  the  genus,  and 
thence  to  the  most  extensive  orders  and  classes,  we  arrive, 
though  in  a  different  way,  at  the  knowledge  of  general  truths, 
which,  in  a  certain  sense,  are  also  scientific,  and  answer  a 
similar  purpose.  Our  acquaintance' with  nature  and  its  laws 
is  so  much  extended,  that  we  shall  be  enabled,  in  numberless 
cases,  not  only  to  apply  to  the  most  profitable  purposes  the 


INTRODUCTION.  15 

knowledge  we  have  thus  acquired,  but  to  determine  before 
hand,  with  sufficient  certainty,  the  success  of  every  new  ap- 
plication. In  this  progress  we  are  like  people  who,  from  a 
low  and  narrow  bottom,  wtiere  the  view  is  confined  to  a  few 
acres,  gradually  ascend  a  lofty  peak  or  promontory.  The 
prospect  is  perpetually  eidarging  as  we  mount ;  and  when 
we  reach  the  sumit,  the  boundless  horizon,  comprehending 
all  the  variety  of  sea  and  land,  hill  and  valley,  town  and  coun- 
try, arable  and  desert,  lies  under  the  eye  at  once. 

Those  who  in  medicine  have  scarcely  risen  to  the  discern- 
ment of  any  general  principles,  and  have  no  other  directory 
but  the  experiences  gained  in  the  first  and  lowest  stage,  or, 
as  it  were,  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  are  commonly  distin- 
guished by  the  name  of  empirics.  Something  similar  maybe 
said  to  obtain  in  the  other  liberal  arts ;  for  in  all  of  them 
more  enlargement  of  mind  is  necessary  than  is  required  for 
the  exercise  of  those  called  mechanical.  The  character  di- 
rectly opposite  to  the  etnpiric  is  the  visionary ;  for  it  is  not  in 
theology  only  that  there  are  visionaries.  Of  the  two  ex- 
tremes, I  acknowledge  that  the  latter  is  the  worse.  The  first 
founds  upon  facts,  but  the  facts  are  few,  and  commonly  in  his 
reasonings,  through  his  imperfect  knowledge  of  the  subject, 
misapplied.  The  second  often  argues  very  consequentially 
from  principles,  which.,  having  no  foundation  in  nature,  may 
justly  be  denominated  the  illegitimate  issue  of  his  own  ima- 
gination. He  in  this  resembles  the  man  of  science,  that  he 
acts  systematically,  for  there  are  false  as  well  as  true  theo- 
rists, and  is  influenced  by  certain  general- propositions,  real 
or  imaginary.  But  the  difference  lies  here,  that  in  the  one 
they  are  real,  in  the  other  imaginary.  The  system  of  the 
one  is  reared  on  the  firm  basis  of  experience,  the  theory  of 
the  other  is  no  better  than  a  castle  in  the  air.  I  mention 
characters  only  in  the  extreme,  because  in  this  manner  they 
are  best  discriminated.  In  real  life,  however,  any  two  of 
these,  sometimes  all  the  three,  in  various  proportions,  may 
be  found  blended  in  the  same  person. 

The  arts  are  frequently  divided  into  the  useful,  and  the  po- 
lite, fine,  or  elegant :  for  these  words  are,  in  this  application, 
used  synonymously.  This  division  is  not  coincident  with 
that  into  the  meclianical  and  the  liberal.  Physic,  navigation, 
and  the  art  of  war,  though  properly  liberal  arts,  fall  entirely 
\mder  the  denomination  of  tlie  useful ;  whereas  painting  and 
sculpture,  though  requiring  a  good  deal  of  manual  labour,  and 
in  that  respect  more  nearly  related  to  the  mechanical,  belong 
to  the  chiss  denominated  elegant.  The  first  division  arises 
purely  from  the  consideration  of  the  end  to  be  attained,  the 
second  from  the  consideration  of  the  means  to  be  employed. 
In  respect  of  the  end,  an  art  is  either  useful  or  elegant ;  in 
respect  of  the  means,  it  is  either  mechanical  or  liberal.     The 


16  INTKODIICTION. 

true  foundation  of  the  former  distribution  is,  that  certain  aria 
are  manifestly  and  ultimately  calculated  for  profit  or  use  ; 
while  others,  on  the  contrary,  seem  to  terminate  in  pleasing. 
The  one  supplies  a  real  want,  the  other  only  gratifies  some 
mental  taste.  Yet  in  strictness,  in  the  execution  of  tie  use- 
ful arts,  there  is  often  scope  for  elegance,  and  the  arts  called 
elegant  are  by  no  means  destitute  of  use.  The  principal  dif- 
ference is,  that  use  is  the  direct  and  avowed  purpose  of  the 
former,  whereas  it  is  more  latently  and  indirectly  effected  by 
the  latter.  Under  this  class  are  commonly  included,  not  only 
the  arts  of  the  painter  and  the  statuary,  but  those  also  of  the 
musician  and  the  poet.  Eloquence  and  avchitecture,  by  which 
last  term  is  always  understood  more  than  building  merely 
for  accommodation,  are  to  be  considered  as  of  a  mixed  na- 
ture, wherein  utility  and  beauty  have  almost  equal  influence. 
The  elegant  arts,  as  vv^ell  as  the  useful,  are  founded  in  ex- 
perience ;  but  from  the  difference  of  their  nature,  there  arises 
a  considerable  difference  both  in  their  origin  and  in  their 
growth.  Necessity,  the  mother  of  invention,  drives  men,  in 
the  earliest  state  of  society,  to  the  study  and  cultivation  of 
the  useful  arts  ;  it  is  always  leisure  and  abundance  which  lead 
men  to  seek  gratifications  no  way  conducive  to  the  preserva- 
tion either  of  the  individual  or  of  the  species.  The  elegant 
arts,  therefore,  are  doubtless  to  be  considered  as  the  younger 
sisters.  The  progress  of  the  former  towards  perfection  is, 
however,  much  slower  than  that  of  the  latter.  Indeed,  with 
regard  to  the  first,  it  is  impossible  to  say,  as  to  several  arts, 
what  is  the  perfection  of  the  art  ;  since  we  are  incapable  of 
conceiving  how  far  the  united  discernment  and  industry  of 
men,  properly  applied,  may  yet  carry  them.  For  some  cen- 
turies backward,  the  men  of  every  age  have  made  great  and 
unexpected  improvements  on  the  labours  of  their  predeces- 
sors. And  it  is  very  probable  that  the  subsequent  age  will 
produce  discoveries  and  acquisitions,  which  we  of  this  age 
are  as  little  capable  of  foreseeing,  as  those  w^ho  preceded  us 
in  the  last  century  were  capable  of  conjecturing  the  progress 
that  would  be  made  in  the  present.  The  case  is  not  entirely 
similar  in  the  fine  arts.  These,  though  later  in  their  appear- 
ing, are  more  rapid  in  their  advancement.  There  may,  in- 
deed, be  in  these  a  degree  of  perfection  beyond  what  we  have 
experienced  ;  but  we  have  some  conception  of  the  very  ut- 
most to  which  it  can  proceed.  For  instance,  where  resem- 
blance is  the  object,  as  in  a  picture  or  a  statue,  a  perfect  con- 
formity to  its  archetype  is  a  thing  at  least  conceivable.  In 
like  manner,  the  utmost  pleasure  of  which  the  imagination  is 
susceptible  by  a  poetical  narrative  or  exhibition  is  a  thing,  in 
my  judgment,  not  inconceivable.  We  Britons,  for  example, 
do,  by  immense  degi-ees,  excel  the  ancient  Greeks  in  the  arts 
of  navigation  and  ship-building;  and  how  much  farther  we 


INTRODUCTION.  17 

may  still  excel  them  in  these,  by  means  of  discoveries  and 
improvements  yet  to  be  made,  it  would  be  the  greatest  pre- 
Bumption  in  any  man  to  say.  But  as  it  requires  not  a  pro- 
phetic spirit  to  discover,  it  implies  no  presumption  to  affirm, 
that  we  shall  never  excel  them  so  far  in  poetry  and  eloquence, 
\f  ever  in  these  respects  we  come  to  equal  them.  The  same 
thing  might  probably  be  affirmed  in  regard  to  painting,  sculp- 
ture, and  music,  if  we  had  here  as  ample  a  fund  of  materials 
for  forming  a  comparison. 

But  let  it  be  observed,  that  the  remarks  now  made  regard 
only  the  advancement  of  the  arts  themselves  ;  for  though  the 
useful  are  of  slower  growth  than  the  other,  and  their  utmost 
perfection  cannot  always  be  so  easily  ascertained,  yet  the 
acquisition  of  any  one  of  them  by  a  learner,  in  the  perfection 
which  it  has  reached  at  the  time,  is  a  much  easier  matter 
than  the  acquisition  of  any  of  the  elegant  arts;  besides 
that  the  latter  require  much  more  of  a  certain  happy  combi- 
nation in  the  original  frame  of  spirit,  commonly  called  genius, 
than  is  necessary  in  the  other. 

Let  it  be  observed  farther,  that  as  the  gratification  of  taste 
is  the  immediate  object  of  the  fine  arts,  their  effect  is  in  a 
manner  instantaneous,  and  the  quality  of  any  new  production 
in  these  is  immediately  judged  by  everybody ;  for  all  have 
in  them  some  rudiments  of  taste,  though  in  some  they  are 
improved  by  a  good,  in  others  corrupted  by  a  bad  education, 
and  in  others  almost  suppressed  by  a  total  want  of  education. 
In  the  useful  arts,  on  the  contrary,  as  more  time  and  expe- 
rience are  requisite  for  discovering  the  means  by  which  our 
accommodation  is  effected,  so  it  generally  requires  examina- 
tion, time,  and  trial,  that  we  may  be  satisfied  of  the  fitness  of 
the  work  for  the  end  proposed.  In  these  we  are  not  so  near 
apt  to  consider  ourselves  as  judges,  unless  we  be  either 
artists,  or  accustomed  to  employ  and  examine  the  works  of 
artists  in  that  particular  profession. 

I  mentioned  some  arts  that  have  their  fundamental  princi- 
ples in  the  abstract  sciences  of  geometry  and  arithmetic,  and 
some  in  the  doctrine  of  gravitation  and  motion.  There  are 
others,  as  the  medical  and  chirurgical  arts,  which  require  a 
still  broader  foundation  of  science  in  anatomy,  the  animal 
economy,  natural  history,  diseases  and  remedies.  Those 
arts,  which,  like  poetry,  are  purely  to  be  ranked  among  the 
elegant,  as  their  end  is  attained  by  an  accommodation  to 
some  internal  taste,  so  the  springs  by  which  alone  they  can 
be  regulated  must  be  sought  for  in  the  nature  of  the  human 
mind,  and  more  especially  in  the  principles  of  the  imagina- 
tion. It  is  also  in  the  human  mind  that  we  must  investigate 
the  source  of  some  of  the  useful  arts.  Logic,  whose  end  is 
the  discovery  of  truth,  is  founded  in  the  doctrine  of  the  un- 
derstanding ;  and  ethics,  under  which  may  be  comprehended 
B3 


18  INTRODUCTION. 

economics,  politics,  and  jurisprudence,  are  founded  in  that 
of  the  will. 

This  was  the  idea  of  Lord  Verulam,*  perhaps  the  most 
compreljoMsive  genius  in  philosophy  that  has  appeared  in 
modern  times.  13ut  these  are  not  the  only  arts  which  have 
their  foundation  in  tlie  science  of  human  nature.  Grammar, 
too,  in  its  general  principles,  has  a  close  connexion  with  the 
understanding,  and  the  theory  of  the  association  of  ideas. 

But  there  is  no  art  whatever  that  has  so  close  a  connexion 
with  all  the  faculties  and  powers  of  the  mind  as  eloquence, 
or  the  art  of  speaking,  in  the  extensive  sense  in  which  I  em- 
ploy the  term.  For,  in  the  first  place,  that  it  ought  to  be 
ranked  among  the  polite  or  fine  arts,  is  manifest  from  this, 
that  in  all  its  exertions,  with  little  or  no  exception  (as  will 
appear  afterward),  it  requires  the  aid  of  the  imagination. 
Thereby  it  not  only  pleases,  but  by  pleasing  commands  atten- 
tion, rouses  the  passions,  and  often  at  last  subdues  the  most 
stubborn  resolution.  It  is  also  a  useful  art.  This  is  cer- 
tainly the  case,  if  the  power  of  speech  be  a  useful  faculty,  as 
it  professedly  teaches  us  how  to  employ  that  faculty  with 
the  greatest  probability  of  success.  Farther,  if  the  logical 
art  and  the  ethical  be  useful,  eloquence  is  useful,  as  it  in- 
structs us  how  these  arts  must  be  applied  for  the  conviction 
and  persuasion  of  others.  It  is,  indeed,  the  grand  art  of  com- 
munication, not  of  ideas  only,  but  of  sentiments,  passions, 
dispositions,  and  purposes.  Nay,  without  this,  the  greatest 
talents,  even  wisdom  itself,  lose  much  of  their  lustre,  and 
still  more  of  their  usefulness.  The  tvise  in  heart,  saith  Solo- 
mon, shall  be  called  prudent,  but  the  sweetness  of  the  lips  in- 
creaselh  learning.^  By  the  former,  a  man's  own  conduct  may 
be  well  regulated,  but  the  latter  is  absolutely  necessary  for 
diffusing  valuable  knowledge,  and  enforcing  right  rules  of 
action  upon  others. 

Poetry,  indeed,  is  properly  no  other  than  a  particular  mode 
or  form  of  certain  branches  of  oratory.  But  of  this  more 
afterward.  Sufllice  it  only  to  remark  at  present,  that  the  di- 
rect end  of  the  former,  whether  to  delight  the  fancy  as  in  epic, 
or  to  move  the  passions  as  in  tragedy,  is  avowedly  in  part  the 
aim,  and  sometimes  the  immediate  and  proposed  aim,  of  the 
orator.  The  same  medium,  language,  is  made  use  of,  the  same 
general  rules  of  composition,  in  narration,  description,  argu- 

*  Doctrina  circa  intellectua:,  alque  ilia  altera  circa  voluntate/n  hominis,  in 
natjlitaus  suis  tanquam  gemellae  sunt.  Et  enim  illuminationis  puntas  et 
-iffbiirii  Ubertas  simul  inceperunt,  simul  corruerunt.  Neque  dalur  in  uni- 
versitate  rerum  tarn  intima  sympathia  quam  ilia  Veri  et  Boni.  Venimus 
jam  ad  doctrinam  circa  usum  et  objecta  facultatem  anima  humanse.  Ilia 
duas  habet  partes  easque  notissirnas,  et  consensu  receptas ;  Loaicam  et 
Ethicam.  Logica  de  intellectn  et  ratione  ;  Elhica  de  voluntate,  appetitu, 
et  affectibus  disserit.  Altera  decreta,  altera  actiones  progignit. — De  Aug 
Sci,  1.  v.,  c.  i.  t  Prov.,  xvi.,  31 


INTRODUCTION  19 

mentation,  are  observed ;  and  the  same  tropes  and  figures, 
either  for  beautifying  or  for  invigorating  the  diction,  are  em- 
ployed by  both.  In  regard  to  versification,  it  is  more  to  be 
considered  as  an  appendage  than  as  a  constituent  of  poetry. 
In  this  lies  what  may  be  called  the  more  mechanical  part  ol 
the  poet's  work,  b^ing  at  most  but  a  sort  of  garnishing,  aivd 
by  far  too  unessential  to  give  a  designation  to  the  kind.  This 
particularity  in  form,  to  adopt  an  expression  of  the  naturalists, 
constitutes  only  a  variet;^,  and  not  a  different  species. 

Now,  though  a  considerable  proficiency  in  the  practice  of 
the  oratorical  art  maybe  easily  and  almost  naturally  attained, 
by  one  in  whom  clearness  of  apprehension  is  happily  united 
with  sensibility  of  taste,  fertility  of  imagination,  and  a  certain 
readiness  in  language,  a  more  thorough  investigation  of  the 
latent  energies,  if  I  may  thus  express  myself,  whereby  the 
instruments  employed  by  eloquence  produce  their  effect 
upon  the  hearers,  will  serve  considerably  both  to  improve 
their  taste,  and  to  enrich  the  fancy.  By  the  former  effect 
we  learn  to  amend  and  avoid  faults  in  composing  and  speak- 
ing, against  which  the  best  natural,  but  uncultivated  parts, 
give  no  security  ;  and  by  the  latter,  the  proper  mediums  are 
suggested,  whereby  the  necessary  aids  of  topics,  arguments, 
illustrations,  and  motives  may  be  procured.  Besides,  this 
study,  properly  conducted,  leads  directly  lo  an  acquaintance 
with  ourselves ;  it  not  only  traces  the  operations  of  the  intel- 
lect and  imagination,  but  discloses  the  lurking  springs  ot 
action  in  the  heart.  In  this  view,  it  is  perhaps  the  surest 
and  the  shortest,  as  well  as  the  pleasantest  way  of  arriving 
at  the  science  of  the  human  mind.  It  is  as  an  humble  attempt 
to  lead  the  mind  of  the  studious  inquii-er  into  this  track  that 
the  following  sheets  are  now  submitted  to  the  examination  o 
the  public. 

When  we  consider  the  manner  in  which  the  rhetorical  art 
hath  arisen,  and  been  treated  in  the  schools,  we  must  be 
sensible  that  in  this,  as  in  the  imitative  arts,  the  first  handle 
has  been  given  to  criticism  by  actual  performances  in  the 
art.  The  principles  of  our  nature  will,  without  the  aid  of 
any  previous  and  formal  instruction,  sufficiently  account  for 
the  first  attempts.  As  speakers  existed  before  grammarians, 
and  reasQners  before  logicians,  so,  doubtless,  there  were  ora- 
tors before  there  were  rhetoricians,  and  poets  before  critics. 
The  first  impulse  towards  the  attainment  of  every  art  is  from 
nature.  The  earliest  assistance  and  direction  that  can  be 
obtained  in  the  rhetorical  art,  by  which  men  operate  on  the 
minds  of  others,  arises  from  the  consciousness  a  man  has  of 
what  operates  on  his  own  mind,  aided  by  the  sympathetic 
feelings,  and  by  that  practical  experience  of  mankind  which 
individuals,  even  in  the  rudest  state  of  society,  are  capable  of 
acquiring.    The  next  step  is  to  observe  and  discriminate,  bv 


20  INTRODUCTION. 

proper  appellations,  the  different  attempts,  whether  modes  ol 
arguing  or  forms  of  speech,  that  have  been  employed  for 
the  purposes  of  explaining,  convincing,  pleasing,  moving,  and 
persuading.     Here  we  have  the  beginnings  of  the  critical 
science.     The  third  step  is  to  compare,  Avith  diligence,  the 
various  effects,  favourable  or  unfavourable,  of  those  attempts, 
carefully  taking  into  consideration  every  attendant  circum- 
stance by  which  the  success  appears  to  have  been  influenced, 
and  by  which  one  may  be  enabled  to  discover  to  what  partic- 
ular purpose  each  attempt  is  adapted,  and  in  what  circum- 
stances only  to  be  used.     The  fourth  and  last  is  to  canvass 
those  principles  in  our  nature  to  which  the  various  attempts 
r\  are  adapted,  and  by  which,  in  any  instance,  their  success,  or 
*■!  want  of  success,  may  be  accounted  for.     By  the  first  step 
the  critic  is  supplied  with  materials.     By  the  second,  the 
I  materials  are  distributed  and  classed,  the  forms  of  argument, 
I  the  tropes  and  figures  of  speech,  with  their  divisions  and  sub- 
[  divisions,  are  explained.     By  the  ihird,  the  rules  of  composi- 
tion are  discovered,  or  the  method  of  combining  and  disposing 
the  several  material§<so  as  that  they  may  be  perfectly  adapted 
, -te-4.be  end  in  view.     By  the  fourth,  we  arrive  at  that  knowl- 
\  edge  of  hmnan  nature  which,  besides  its  other  advantages, 
ladds  both  weight  and  evidence  to  all  precedent  discoveries 
Wd  rules. 
^The  second  of  the  steps  above  mentioned,  which,  by-the- 
way,  is  the  first  of  the  rhetorical  art,  for  all  that  precedes  is 
properly  supplied  by  Nature,  appeared  to  the  author  of  Hudi- 
bras  the  utmost  pitch  that  had  even  to  his  time  been  attained 

"  For  all  a  rhetorician's  rules 
Teach  nothing  but  to  name  his  tools."* 

In  this,  however,  the  matter  hath  been  exaggerated  by  the 
satirist.  Considerable  progress  had  been  made  by  the  an- 
cient Greeks  and  Romans  in  devising  the  proper  rules  of 
composition,  not  only  in  the  two  sorts  ©f  poesy,  epic  and 
dramatic,  but  also  in  the  three  sorts  of  orations  which  were 
in  most  frequent  use  among  them,  the  deliberative,  the  jut^i- 
ciary,  and  the  demonstrative.  And  I  must  acknowledge  that, 
as  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  discover,  there  has  been  little 
or  no  improvement  in  this  respect  made  by  the  moderns. 
The  observations  and  rules  transmitted  to  us  from*these  dis- 
tinguished names  in  the  learned  world,  Aristotle,  Cicero,  and 
Quintilian,  have  been  for  the  most  part  only  translated  by 
later  critics,  or  put  into  a  modish  dress  and  new  arrange- 
ment. And  as  to  the  fourth  and  last  step,  it  may  be  said  to 
bring  us  into  a  new  country,  of  which,  though  there  have 
been  some  successful  incursions  occasionally  made  upon  its 
frontiers,  we  are  not  yet  in  full  possession. 

*  Part  1.,  canto  1. 


INTRODUCTION.  21 

The  performance  which,  of  all  those  I  hf>ppen  to  be  ac- 
quainted with,  seems  to  have  advanced  farthest  in  this  way 
is  the  Elements  of  Criticism.  But  the  subject  of  the  learned 
and  ingenious  author  of  that  Avork  is  rather  too  multifarious 
to  admit  so  narrow  a  scrutiny  as  would  be  necessary  for  a 
perfect  knowledge  of  the  several  parts.  l']verything  that  is 
an  object  of  taste,  sculpture,  painting,  music,  architecture,  and 
gardening,  as  well  as  poetry  and  eloquence,  come  within  his 
plan.  On  the  other  hand,  though  his  subject  be  more  multi- 
form, it  is,  in  respect  of  its  connexion  with  the  mind,  less 
extensive  than  that  here  proposed.  All  those  particular  arts 
are  examined  only  on  that  side  wherein  there  is  found  a  pret- 
ty considerable  coincidence  with  one  another ;  namely,  as 
objects  of  taste,  which,  by  exciting  sentiments  of  grandeur, 
beauty,  novelty,  and  the  like,  are  calculated  to  delight  the  im- 
agination. In  this  view,  eloquence  comes  no  farther  under 
consideration  than  as  a  fine  art,  and  adapted,  like  the  other 
above  mentioned,  to  please  the  fancy  and  to  move  the  pas- 
sions. But  to  treat  it  also  as  a  useful  art,  and  closely  con- 
nected with  the  understanding  and  the  will,  would  have  led 
to  a  discussion  foreign  to  his  purpose. 

I  am  aware  that,  from  the  deduction  given  above,  it  may 
be  urged  that  the  fact,  as  here  represented,  seems  to  subvert 
the  principle  formerly  laid  down,  and  that  as  practice  in  the 
art  has  given  the  first  scope  for  criticism,  the  former  cannot 
justly  be  considered  as  deriving  light  and  direction  from  the 
latter ;  that,  on  the  contrary,  the  latter  ought  to  be  regarded 
as  merely  affording  a  sort  of  intellectual  entertainment  to 
speculative  men.  It  may  be  said  that  this  science,  however 
entertaining,  as  it  must  derive  all  its  light  and  information 
from  the  actual  examples  in  the  art,  can  never,  in  return,  be 
subservient  to  the  art,  from  which  alone  it  has  received 
whatever  it  has  to  bestow.  This  objection,  however  spe- 
cious, will  not  bear  a  near  examination  ;  for  let  it  be  observ- 
ed, that  though  in  all  the  arts  the  first  rough  draughts  or  im- 
perfect attempts  that  are  made  precede  everything  that  can 
be  termed  criticism,  they  do  not  precede  everything  that  can 
be  termed  knowledge,  which  every  human  creature  that  is 
not  an  idiot  is  every  day,  from  his  birth,  acquiring  by  expe- 
rience and  observation.  This  knowledge  must  of  necessity 
precede  even  those  rudest  and  earliest  essays ;  and  if  in  the 
imperfect  and  indigested  state  in  which  knowledge  must  al- 
ways be  found  in  the  mind  that  is  rather  self-taught  than  to- 
tally untaught,  it  deserves  not  to  be  dignified  with  the  title 
of  Science,  neither  does  the  first  awkward  attempt  in  prac- 
tice merit  to  be  honoured  with  the  name  of  Art.  As  is  the 
one,  such  is  the  other.  It  is  enough  for  my  purpose  that 
something  must  be  knoAvn,  before  anything  in  this  way,  with 
a  view  to  an  end,  can  be  undertaken  to  be  done 


32  INTRODUCTION. 

At  the  same  time  it  is  acknowledged  that,  as  man  is  much 
more  an  active  than  a  contemplative  being,  and  as  generally 
there  is  some  view  to  action,  especially  in  uncultivated  minds, 
in  all  their  observations  and  inquiries,  it  cannot  be  doubted 
that,  in  composition,  the  first  attempts  would  be  in  the  art, 
and  that  afterward,  from  the  comparison  of  different  attempts 
with  one  another,  and  the  consideration  of  the  success  with 
which  they  had  been  severally  attended,  would  arise  gradu- 
ally the  rules  of  criticism.  Nor  can  it,  on  the  other  hand,  be 
pleaded  with  any  appearance  of  truth,  that  -observations  de- 
rived from  the  productions  of  an  art,  can  be  of  no  service  for 
the  improvement  of  that  art,  and,  consequently,  of  no  benefit 
to  future  artists.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  thus  that  every  art, 
liberal  or  mechanical,  elegant  or  useful,  except  those  founded 
in  pure  mathematics,  advances  towards  perfection.  From 
observing  similar,  but  diflferent  attempts  and  experiments, 
and  from  comparing  their  effects,  general  remarks  are  made, 
which  serve  as  so  many  rules  for  directing  future  practice ; 
and  from  comparing  such  general  remarks  together,  others 
still  more  general  are  deduced.  A  few  individual  instances 
serve  as  a  foundation  to  those  observations,  which,  when 
once  sufficiently  established,  extend  their  influence  to  instan- 
ces innumerable.  It  is  in  this  way  that,  on  experiments 
comparatively  few,  all  the  physiological  sciences  have  been 
reared ;  it  is  in  this  way  that  those  comprehensive  truths 
were  first  discovered  which  have  had  such  an  unlimited  influ- 
ence on  the  most  important  arts,  and  given  man  so  vast  a 
dominion  over  the  elements,  and  even  the  most  refractory 
powers  of  nature.  It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  the  artist  and 
the  critic  are  reciprocally  subservient,  and  the  particular  prov- 
ince of  each  is  greatly  improved  by  the  assistance  of  the 
other. 

But  it  is  not  necessary  here  to  enter  farther  into  this  sub- 
ject ;  what  I  shall  have  occasion  afterward  to  advance  on 
the  acquisition  of  experience,  and  the  manner  of  using  it, 
^ill  be  a  sufficient  illustration. 


TBG 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  RHETORIC. 


BOOK   I. 

THE  NATURE  AND  FOUNDATIONS  OF  ELOQUENCE. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Eloquence  in  the  largest  acceptation  defined,  its  more  general  forms  exhib* 
ited,  with  their  different  objects,  ends,  and  characters. 

In  speaking,  there  is  always  some  end  proposed,  or  some 
effect  which  the  speaker  intends  to  produce  in  the  hearer. 
The  word  eloquence,  in  its  greatest  latitude,  denotes  "  that  art 
or  talent  by  which  the  discourse  is  adapted  to  its  end."* 

All  the  ends  of  speaking  are  reducible  to  four ;  every  speech 
being  intended  to  enlighten  the  understanding,  to  please  the 
imagination,  to  move  the  passions,  or  to  influence  the  will. 

Any  one  discourse  admits  only  one  of  these  ends  as  the 
principal.  Nevertheless,  in  discoursing  on  a  subject,  many 
things  may  be  introduced  which  are  more  immediately  and 
apparently  directed  to  some  of  the  other  ends  of  speaking, 
and  not  to  that  which  is  the  chief  intent  of  the  whole.  But 
then  these  other  and  immediate  ends  are  in  effect  but  means, 
and  must  be  rendered  conducive  to  that  which  is  the  primary 
intention.  Accordingly,  the  propriety  or  the  impropriety  of 
the  introduction  of  such  secondary  ends  will  always  be  in- 
ferred from  their  subserviency  or  want  of  subserviency  to 
that  end  which  is,  in  respect  of  them,  the  ultimate.  For  ex- 
ample, a  discourse  addressed  to  the  understanding,  and  cal- 
culated to  illustrate  or  evince  some  point  purely  speculative, 
may  borrow  aid  from  the  imagination,  and  admit  metaphor 
and  comparison,  but  not  the  bolder  and  more  striking  fig- 
ures, as  that  called  vision  or  fiction,!  prosopopoeia,  and  the 

♦  "  Dicere  secundum  virtutem  orationis.  Scientia  bene  dicendi." — 
Quintilian.  The  word  eloquence,  in  common  conversation,  is  seldom  used 
in  such  a  comprehensive  sense.  I  have,  however,  made  choice  of  this 
definition  on  a  double  account :  1st.  It  exactly  corresponds  to  TuUy's  idea 
of  a  perfect  orator :  "  Optimus  est  orator  qui  dicendo  animos  audientium  et 
docet,  et  delectat,  et  permovet."  2dly.  It  is  best  adapted  to  the  subject  of 
these  papers.     See  the  note  on  page  26. 

t  By  vision  or  fiction  is  understood  that  rhetorical  figure  of  which  Quin- 
tilian says,  "Quas  (pavrmias  Graeri  vocant,  nos  san6  visiones  appellamui. 


24  THE    PniLOSOPHY   OP  RHETORIC. 

like,  which  are  not  so  much  intended  to  elucidate  a  subject 
as  to  excite  admiration.  Still  less  will  it  admit  an  address 
to  the  passions,  which,  as  it  never  fails  to  disturb  the  opera- 
tion of  the  intellectual  faculty,  must  be  regarded  by  every 
intelligent  hearer  as  foreign  at  least,  if  not  insidious.  It  is 
obvious  that  either  of  these,  far  from  being  subservient  to 
the  main  design,  would  distract  the  attention  from  it. 

There  is,  indeed,  one  kind  of  address  to  the  understanding, 
and  onl)'  one,  which,  it  may  not  be  improper  to  observe,  dis- 
dains all  assistance  whatever  from  the  fancy.  The  address 
I  mean  is  mathematical  demonstration.  As  this  doth  not, 
like  moral  reasoning,  admit  degrees  of  evidence,  its  perfec- 
tion in  point  of  eloquence,  if  so  uncommon  an  application  of 
the  term  may  be  allowed,  consists  in  perspicuity.  Perspi- 
cuity here  results  entirely  from  propriety  and  simplicity  of 
diction,  and  from  accuracy  of  method,  where  the  mind  is  reg- 
ularly, step  by  step,  conducted  forward  in  the  same  track, 
the  attention  no  way  diverted,  nothing  left  to  be  supphed,  no 
one  unnecessary  word  or  idea  introduced.*  On  the  contrary, 
an  harangue  framed  for  affecting  the  hearts  or  influencing  the 
resolves  of  an  assembly,  needs  greatly  the  assistance  both  of 
intellect  and  of  imagination. 

In  general,  it  may  be  asserted  that  each  preceding  species, 
in  the  order  above  exhibited,  is  preparatory  to  the  subsequent ; 
that  each  subsequent  species  is  founded  on  the  preceding; 
and  that  thus  they  ascejid  in  a  regular  progression.  Knowl- 
edge, the  object  of  the  intellect,  furnisheth  materials  for  the 
fancy ;  the  fancy  culls,  compounds,  and,  by  her  mimic  art, 
disposes  these  materials  so  as  to  affect  the  passions;  the 
passions  are  the  natural  spurs  to  volition  or  action,  and  so 
need  only  to  be  rightly  directed.  This  connexion  and  de- 
pendancy  will  better  appear  from  the  following  observations. 

When  a  speaker  addresses  himself  to  the  understanding, 
he  proposes  the  instruction  of  his  hearers,  and  that,  either  by 
explaining  some  doctrine  unknown,  or  not  distinctly  compre- 
hended by  them,  or  by  proving  som.e  position  disbelieved  or 
doubted  by  them.  In  other  words,  he  proposes  either  to  dis- 
pel ignorance  or  to  vanquish  error.  In  the  one,  his  aim  is 
their  information ;  in  the  other,  their  conviction.  Accordingly, 
the  predominant  quality  of  the  former  is  persvicuity ;  of  the 

per  qnas  imagines  rerum  absentium  ita  repraesentantur  animo,  ut  eas  cer- 
nere  oculis  ac  praesentes  habere  videaraur." 

*■  Of  this  kind  EucUd  hath  given  us  the  most  perfect  models,  which  have 
not,  I  think,  been  sufficiently  imitated  by  later  mathematicians.  In  him 
you  fmd  the  exactest  arrangement  mviolably  observed,  the  properest  and 
simplest,  and,  by  consequence,  the  plainest  expressions  constantly  used, 
nothing  deficient,  nothing  superfluous  ;  in  brief,  nothing  which  in  more,  or 
fewer,  or  other  words,  or  words  otherwise  disposed,  could  have  been  better 
expressed. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  25 

latter,  argurnent.     By  that  we  are  made  to  know,  by  this  to 
believe. 

The  imagination  is  addressed  by  exhibiting  to  it  a  lively 
and  beautiful  representation  of  a  suitable  object.  As  in  this 
exhibition  the  task  of  the  orator  may,  in  some  sort,  be  said, 
like  that  of  the  painter,  to  consist  in  imitation,  the  merit  of 
the  work  results  entirely  from  these  two  sources :  dignity, 
as  well  in  the  subject  or  thing  imitated  as  in  the  manner  oi 
imitation,  and  resemblance  in  the  portrait  or  performance. 
Now  the  principal  scope  for  this  class  being  in  narration  and 
lescription,  poetry,  which  is  one  mode  of  oratory,  especially 
epic  poetry,  must  be  ranked  under  it.  The  effect  of  the 
iramatic,  at  least  of  tragedy,  being  upon  the  passions,  the 
drama  falls  under  another  species,  to  be  explained  afterward. 
But  that  kind  of  address  of  which  I  am  now  treating  attains 
the  summit  of  perfection  in  the  sublime,  or  those  great  and 
noble  images  which,  when  in  suitable  colouring  presented  to 
the  mind,  do,  as  it  were,  distend  the  imagination  with  some 
vast  conception,  and  quite  ravish  the  soul. 

The  sublime,  it  may  be  urged,  as  it  raiseth  admiration, 
should  be  considered  as  one  species  of  address  to  the  pas- 
sions. But  this  objection,  when  examined,  will  appear  su- 
perficial. There  are  few  words  in  any  language  (particularly 
such  as  relate  to  the  operations  and  feelings  of  the  mind) 
which  are  strictly  univocal.  Thus,  admiration,  when  per- 
sons are  the  object,  is  commonly  used  for. a  high  degree  of 
esteem  ;  but,  when  otherwise  applied,  it  denotes  solely  an 
internal  taste.  It  is  that  pleasurable  sensation  which  in- 
stantly arises  on  the  perception  of  magnitude,  or  of  what- 
ever is  great  and  stupendous  in  its  kind ;  for  there  is  a 
greatness  in  the  degrees  of  quality  in  spiritual  subjects 
analogous  to  that  which  subsists  in  the  degrees  of  quantity 
in  material  things.  Accordingly,  in  all  tongues,  perhaps 
without  exception,  the  ordinary  terms  which  are  considered 
bS  literally  expressive  of  the  latter,  are  also  used  promiscu- 
ously to  denote  the  former.  Now  admiration,  when  thus 
applied,  doth  not  require  to  its  production,  as  the  passions 
generally  do,  any  reflex  view  of  motives  or  tendencies,  or 
of  any  relation  either  to  private  interest  or  to  the  good  of 
others  ;  and  ought,  therefore,  to  be  numbered  among  those 
original  feelings  of  the  mind,  which  are  denominated  by 
some  the  reflex  senses,  being  of  the  same  class  with  a  taste 
of  beauty,  an  ear  for  music,  or  our  moral  sentiments.  Now 
the  immediate  view  of  whatever  is  directed  to  the  imagina- 
tion (whether  the  subject  be  things  inanimate  or  animal 
forms,  whether  characters,  actions,  incidents,  or  manneiS) 
terminates  in  the  gratification  of  some  internal  taste  ;  as  a 
taste  for  the  wonderful,  the  fair,  the  good  :  for  elegance,  for 
novelty,  or  for  grandeur. 

C 


126  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

But  it  is  evident  that  this  creative  faculty,  the  fancy,  fre« 
qucntly  lends  her  aid  in  promoting  still  nobler  ends.  From 
her  exuberant  stores  most  of  lliose  tropes  and  figures  are  ex- 
tracted uliich,  when  properly  employed,  have  such  a  mar- 
vellous efiicacy  in  rousing  the  passions,  and  by  some  secret, 
sudden,  and  inexplicable  association,  awakening  all  the  ten- 
(lerest  emotions  of  the  beart.  In  tbis  case,  the  address  of 
the  orator  is  not  ultimately  intended  to  astonish  by  the  lofti- 
ness of  his  images,  or  to  delight  by  tiie  beauteous  resemblance 
wliich  his  painting  bears  to  naiure ;  nay,  it  will  not  permit 
the  hearers  even  a  moment's  leisure  for  making  the  compar- 
ison, but,  as  it  were,  by  some  magical  spell,  hurries  them,  ere 
llicy  are  aware,  into  love,  pity,  grief,  terror,  desire,  aversion, 
fury,  or  hatred.  It  therefore  assumes  the  denomination  of 
palhctic*  which  is  the  characteristic  of  the  third  species  of 
discourse,  that  addressed  to  the  passions. 

Finally,  as  that  kind,  the  most  complex  of  all,  which  is 
calculated  to  influence  the  will,  and  persuade  to  a  certain 
conduct,  is  in  reality  an  artful  uiixture  of  that  which  proposes 
to  convince  the  judgment,  and  that  which  interests  the  pas- 
sions, its  distinguishing  excellence  results  from  these  two, 
the  argumentative  and  the  pathetic  incorporated  together. 
These,  acting  with  united  force,  and,  if  I  may  so  express  my- 
self, in  concert,  constitute  that  passionate  eviction,  thTit  vehe- 
mence of  contention,  which  is  admirably  fitted  for  persuasion, 
and  hath  always  been  regarded  as  the  supreme  qualification 
in  an  orator.f    It  is  this  which  bears  down  every  obstacle, 

*  I  am  sensible  that  this  word  is  commonly  used  in  a  more  Inniled  sense, 
tor  that  only  which  excites  commiseration.  Perhaps  the  word  impassioned 
would  answer  better. 

t  This  animated  reasoning  the  Greek  rhetoricians  termed  ftivori??,  which, 
from  signifying  the  principal  excellence  in  an  orator,  came  at  length  to  de- 
note oratory  itself.  And  as  vehemence  and  eloquence  became  synonymous, 
the  latter,  suitably  to  this  way  of  thinking,  was  sometimes  defined  the  art 
of  persuasion.  But  that  this  definition  is  detective,  appears  even  from  their 
own  writings,  since,  in  a  consistency  with  it,  their  rhetorics  could  have 
comprehended  those  orations  called  demonstrative,  the  design  of  which  was 
not  to  persuade,  but  to  plea.se.  Yet  it  is  easy  to  discover  the  origin  of  this 
defect,  and  that  both  from  the  nature  of  the  thing  and  from  the  customs 
which  obtained  among  both  Greeks  and  Romans.  First,  from  the  nature 
o''  the  thing,  for  to  persuade  presupposes  in  some  degree,  and  therefore 
may  be  understood  to  imply,  all  the  other  talents  of  an  or.itor,  to  enlighten, 
to  evince,  to  paint,  to  astonish,  to  inflame  :  but  this  doth  not  hold  inversely  ; 
one  may  explain  with  clearness,  and  prove  with  energy,  who  is  incipable 
of  the  sublime,  the  pathetic,  and  the  vehement ;  besides,  this  power  of  per- 
suasion, or,  as  Cicero  calls  it,  "posse  voluntates  hominum  impellere  quo 
veils,  ui;de  veils,  deducere,"'  as  it  makes  a  man  master  of  his  hearers,  is 
;he  most  considerable  in  respect  of  consequences.  Secondly,  from  ancient 
customs.  All  their  public  orations  were  ranked  under  three  classes,  the 
demonstrative,  the  judiciary,  and  the  deliberative.  In  the  last  two  it  was 
impossible  to  rise  to  eminence  without  that  important  talent,  the  power  of 
persuasion.  These  were  in  much  more  frequent  use  than  the  first,  and 
wuhr-il,  the  surest  means  of  advancing  both  the  fortune  and  the  fame  of  the 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  27 

and  procures  the  speaker  an  irresistible  power  over  the 
thoughts  and  purposes  of  his  audience.  It  is  tliis  which 
hath  been  so  iuslly  celebrated  as  giving  one  man  an  ascend- 
ant over  others,  superior  even  to  vvliat  despotism  itself  can 
bestow ;  since  by  the  latter  the  more  ignoble  parts  only,  the 
body  and  its  members,  are  enslaved  ;  wliereaa  from  tiie  do- 
minion of  the  former  notiiing  is  exempted,  neither  judgment 
nor  affection,  not  even  the  inmost  recesses,  the  most  latent 
movements  of  the  soul.  What  opposition  is  he  not  prepared 
to  conquer  on  whose  arms  reason  hath  conferred  solidity  and 
weight,  and  passion  such  a  sharpness  as  enables  tliem,  in 
defiance  of  every  obstruction,  to  open  a  speedy  passage  to  the 
heart  ] 

It  is  not,  however,  every  kind  of  pathos  which  will  give 
the  orator  so  great  an  ascendency  over  the  minds  of  his 
hearers.  All  passions  are  not  alike  capable  of  producing 
this  effect.  Some  are  naturally  inert  and  torpid  ;  they  deject 
the  mind,  and  indispose  it  for  enterprise.  Of  this  kind  are 
sorrow,  fear,  shame,  humility.  Others,  on  the  contrary,  ele- 
vate the  soul,  and  stimulate  to  action.  Such  are  hope, 
patriotism,  ambition,  emulation,  anger.  These,  with  the 
greatest  facility,  are  made  to  concur  in  direction  with  argu- 
ments exciting  to  resolution  and  activity  ;  and  are,  conse- 
quently, the  fittest  for  producing  what,  for  want  of  a  better 
term  in  our  language,  I  shall  henceforth  denominate  the  vehe- 
ment. There  is,  besides,  an  intermediate  kind  of  passions, 
which  do  not  so  congenially  and  directly  either  restrain  us 
from  acting  or  incite  us  to  act ;  but,  by  the  art  of  the 
speaker,  can,  in  an  oblique  manner,  be  made  conducive  to 
either.  Such  are  joy,  love,  esteem,  compassion.  Never- 
theless, all  these  kinds  may  find  a  place  in  suasory  discourses, 
or  such  as  are  intended  to  operate  on  the  will.  The  first  is 
properest  for  dissuading ;  the  second,  as  hath  been  already 
hinted,  for  persuading ;  the  third  is  equally  accommodated  to 
both. 

Guided  by  the  above  reflections,  we  may  easily  trace  that 
connexion  in  the  various  forms  of  eloquence  which  was  re- 
marked on  distinguishing  them  by  their  several  objects.  The 
imagination  is  charmed  by  a  finished  picture,  wiierein  even 
drapery  and  ornament  are  not  neglected  ;  for  here  the  end  is 
pleasure.  Would  we  penetrate  farther,  and  agitate  the  soul, 
we  must  exhibit  only  some  vivid  strokes,  some  expressive 
features,  not  decorated  as  for  show  (all  ostentation  being 

orator;  for  as  on  tlie  judiciary  the  lives  and  estates  of  private  persons  de- 
pended, on  the  deliberative  hung  the  resolves  of  senates,  the  fate  of  king- 
doms, nay,  of  the  most  renowned  lepubhcs  the  world  ever  knew.  Conse- 
quently, to  excel  in  these  must  have  been  the  direct  road  to  riches,  honours, 
and  preferment.  No  wonder,  then,  that  persuasion  should  almost  wholly 
engross  the  rhetorician's  notice. 


28  THE     philosophy' OF    RHETOniC. 

both  despicable  and  hurtful  here),  but  such  as  appear  the 
natural  exposition  of  those  bright  and  deep  impressions  made 
by  the  subject  upon  the  speaker's  mind ;  for  here  the  end  is 
not  pleasure,  but  emotion.  Would  we  not  only  touch  the 
heart,  but  win  it  entirely  to  co-operate  with  our  views,  those 
affecting  lineaments  must  be  so  interwoven  with  our  argu- 
ment, as  that,  from  the  passion  excited,  our  reasoning  may 
derive  importance,  and  so  be  fitted  for  commanding  atten- 
tion ;  and  by  the  justness  of  the  reasoning,  the  passion  may 
be  more  deeply  rooted  and  enforced  ;  and  that  thus  both 
may  be  made  to  conspire  in  effectuating  that  persuasion  which 
is  the  end  proposed.  For  here,  if  1  may  adopt  the  school- 
men's language,  we  do  not  argue  to  gain  barely  the  assent  of 
the  understanding,  but,  which  is  infinitely  more  important, 
the  consent  of  the  will.* 

To  prevent  mistakes,  it  will  not  be  beside  my  purpose  far- 
ther to  remark,  that  several  of  the  terms  above  explained  are 
sometimes  used  by  rhetoricians  and  critics  in  a  much  larger 
and  more  vague  signification  than  has  been  given  them  here. 
Sublimity  and  vehemence,  in  particular,  are  often  confounded, 
the  latter  being  considered  a  species  of  the  former.  In  this 
manner  has  this  subject  been  treated  by  that  great  master, 
Longinus,  whose  acceptation  of  the  term  sublime  is  extremely 
indefinite,  importing  an  eminent  degree  of  almost  any  excel- 
lence of  speech,  of  whatever  kind.  Doubtless,  if  things  them- 
selves be  understood,  it  does  not  seem  material  what  names 
are  assigned  them.  Yet  it  is  both  more  accurate,  and  proves 
no  inconsiderable  aid  to  the  right  understanding  of  things,  to 
discriminate  by  diflferent  signs  such  as  are  truly  different. 
And  that  the  two  qualities  above  mentioned  are  of  this  num- 
ber is  undeniable,  since  we  can  produce  passages  full  of  ve- 
hemence, wherein  no  image  is  presented  which,  with  any 
propriety,  can  be  termed  great  or  sublime. f    In  matters  of 

*  This  subordination  is  beautifully  and  concisely  expressed  by  Hersan 
in  Rollin.  "  Je  conclus  que  la  veritable  eloquence  est  celle  qui  persuade  ; 
qu'elle  ne  persuade  ordinairement  qu'en  touchant ;  qu'elle  ne  touche  que 
pai"  des  choses  et  par  des  idees  palpables." 

t  For  an  instance  of  this,  let  that  of  Cicero  against  Antony  suffice.  "  Tu 
istis  faucibus,  istis  lateribus,  ista  gladiatoria  totius  corporis  firmitate,  tar.tum 
vini  in  Hippiae  nuptiis  exhauseras,  ul  tibi  necesse  esset  in  populi  Roraani 
conspectu  vbmere  postridie.  O  rem  non  modo  visu  foedam,  sed  etiam  au- 
ditu  !  Si  hoc  tibi  inter  ccenam,  in  tuis  immanibus  illis  poculis  accidisset, 
quis  non  turpe  duceret  ?  In  eaetu  vero  populi  Romani,  negotium  publicum 
gerens,  magister  equitum,  cui  ructare  turpe  esset,  is  vomens,  frustis  escu- 
jentis  vinum  redolentibus,  gremium  suum  et  totum  tribunal  implevit." 
Here  the  vivacity  of  the  address,  in  turning  from  the  audience  to  the  person 
declaimed  against,  the  energy  of  the  expressions,  the  repetition,  exclama- 
tion, interrogation,  and  climax  of  aggravating  circumstances,  accumulated 
with  rapidity  upon  one  another,  display  in  the  strongest  light  the  turpitude 
of  the  action,  and  thus  at  once  convince  the  judgment  and  fire  the  indig 
nation.     It  is,  therefore;  justly  styled  vehement.     But  what  is  the  image  it 


THE    PHILOSOrHY    OF    RHETORIC.  29 

criticism,  ;is  in  the  abstract  sciences,  it  is  of  the  utmost  con- 
sequence to  ascertain,  with  precision,  the  meanings  of  words, 
and,  as  nearly  as  the  genius  of  the  language  in  whicli  one 
writes  will  permit,  to  make  them  correspond  to  the  bound- 
aries assigned  by  Nature  to  the  things  signified.  That  the 
lofty  and  the  vehement,  though  still  distinguishable,  are  some- 
times combined,  and  act  with  united  force,  is  not  to  be  denied. 
It  is  then  only  that  the  orator  can  be  said  to  fight  with  weap- 
ons which  are  at  once  sharp,  massive,  and  refulgent,  which, 
like  Heaven's  artillery,  dazzle  while  they  strike,  which  over- 
power the  sight  and  the  heart  in  the  same  instant.  How 
admirably  do  the  two  forenamed  qualities,  when  happily 
blended,  correspond  in  the  rational  to  the  thunder  and  light- 
ning in  the  natural  world,  which  are  not  more  awfully  ma- 
jeslical  in  sound  and  aspect  than  irresistible  in  power!* 

presents  ?  The  reverse  in  every  respect  of  the  sublime  ;  what,  instead  ol 
gazing  on  with  admiration,  we  should  avert  our  eyes  Irom  with  abhorrence. 
For,  however  it.  might  pass  in  a  Roman  Senate,  I  question  whether  Cice- 
ronian eloquence  itself  could  excuse  the  uttering  of  such  things  in  any 
modern  assembly,  not  to  say  a  polite  one.  With  vernacular  expressions 
answering  to  these,  "  vomere,  ructare,  frustis  esculentis  vinum  redolenti- 
bus,"  our  more  delicate  ears  would  be  immoderately  shocked.  In  a  case  of 
this  kind,  the  more  lively  the  picture  is,  so  much  the  more  abominable  it  is. 
*  A  noted  passage  in  Cicero's  oration  for  Cornelius  Bulbus  will  serve  as 
an  example  of  the  union  of  sublimity  with  vehemence.  Speaking  of 
Pompey,  who  had  rewarded  the  valour  and  public  services  of  our  orator's 
client  by  making  him  a  Roman  citizen,  he  says,  "  IJtrum  enim,  inscientem 
vultis  contra  fcedera  fecisse,  an  scientem  V  Si  scientem,  O  nomen  noslri 
imiierii.  O  populi  Romani  excellens  dignitas,  O  Cneii  Pompeii  sic  late  lon- 
g^que  diffusa  lans,  ut  ejus  gloris  domicilium  communis  imperii  finibus  ter- 
minetur:  O  nationes,  urbes,  populi,  reges,  tetrarchas,  tyranni  testes,  Cneii 
Pompeii  non  solum  virtntis  in  bello,  sed  etiam  religionis  in  pace:  vos  deni- 
que  niutse  regiones  imploro,  et  sola  terraruin  ultimarum  vos  maria,  portus, 
iiisulas,  littoraque,  qUcB  est  eniin  ora,  quse  sedes,  qui  locus,  in  quo  non  ex- 
tent hujus  cum  fortitudinis,  tum  vero  humanitatis,  turn  animi,  tum  consilii, 
impressa  vestigia?  Hunc  quisquam  incredibili  quadam  atque  inaudita 
gravitate,  virtute,  constantia  prasditum,  foedera  scientem  neglexisse,  volasse, 
rupisse,  dicere  audebit."  Here  everything  conspires  to  aggrandize  the 
hero,  and  exalt  him  to  something  more  than  mortal  in  the  minds  of  the 
auditory  ;  at  the  same  time,  everything  inspires  the  most  perfect  veneration 
for  his  character,  and  the  most  entire  confidence  in  his  integrity  and  judg- 
ment. The  whole  world  is  exhibited  as  no  more  than  a  sufficient  theatre 
for  such  a  superior  genius  to  act  upon.  How  noble  is  the  idea  !  All  the 
nations  and  potentates  of  the  earth  are,  in  a  manner,  produced  as  witnesses 
of  his  valour  and  his  truth.  Thus  the  orator  at  once  fills  the  imagination 
with  the  immensity  of  the  object,  kindles  in  the  breast  an  ardour  of  atHec- 
tion  and  gratitude,  and  by  so  many  accumulatefi  evidences,  convinces  the 
understanding,  and  silences  every  doubt.  Accordingly,  the  effect  which  the 
words  above  quoted,  and  some  other  things  advanced  in  relation  to  the  same 
personage,  had  upon  the  audience,  as  we  learn  from  Quintilian,  was  quite 
extraordinary.  They  extorted  from  them  such  demonstrations  of  their  ap- 
plause and  admiration  as  he  acknowledges  to  have  been  but  ill-suited  to 
the  place  and  the  occasion.  He  excuses  it,  however,  becau.se  he  considers 
it,  not  as  a  voluntary,  but  as  a  necessary  consequence  of  the  impression 
made  upon  the  minds  of  the  people.  His  words  are  remarkable:  "  Atque 
C'2 


30  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

Thus  much  shall  suffice  for  explaining  the  spirit,  the  intent, 
and  the  distingiiisliing  qualities  of  each  of  the  forementioned 
sorts  of  address  ;  all  which  agree  in  this,  an  accommodation 
\o  affairs  of  a  serious  and  important  nature. 


CHAPTER  II. 

OF    AVIT,    HUMOUR,    AND    IllDICULE. 

This  article,  concerning  eloquence  in  its  largest  accepta- 
tion, I  cannot  properly  dismiss  without  making  some  obser- 
vations on  another  genus  of  oratory,  in  many  things  similar 
to  the  former,  but  which  is  naturally  suited  to  light  and  trivial 
matters. 

This,  also,  may  be  branched  ii.to  three  sorts,  corresponding 
to  those  already  discussed,  directed  to  the  fancy,  the  passions, 
and  the  will ;  for  that  which  illuminates  the  understanding 
serves  as  a  cominon  foundation  to  both,  and  has  here  nothing 
peculiar.  This  may  be  styled  the  eloquence  of  conversation, 
as  the  other  is  more  strictly  the  eloquence  of  declamation.* 
Not,  indeed,  but  that  w^it,  humour,  ridicule,  which  are  the  es- 
sentials of  the  former,  may  often  be  successfully  admitted 
into  public  harangues.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  sublimity, 
pathos,  vehemence,  may  sometimes  enter  the  precincts  of 
fainiliar  converse.  To  justify  the  use  of  such  distinctive 
appellations,  it  is  enough  that  they  refer  to  those  particulars 
whicli  are  predomfnant  in  each,  though  not  peculiar  to  either. 

SECTION  I 


To  consider  the  matter  more  nearly,  it  is  the  design  of  wit 
to  excite  in  the  mind  an  agreeable  surprise,  and  that  arising, 
not  from  anything  marvellous  in  the  subject,  but  solely  from 
the  imagery  she  employs,  or  the  strange  assemblage  of  re- 
lated ideas  presented  to  the  mind.  This  end  is  effected  in 
one  or  other  of  these  three  ways  ;  first,  in  debasing  things 
pompous  or  seemingly  grave  ;  I  say  5cemiwo-/y  grave,  because 

ego  illos  credo  qui  aderant,  nee  sensisse  quid  facerent,  nee  sponte  judicioque 
plausisse;  sed  velut  inente  captos,  et  quo  assent  in  loco  ignaros,  erupisse 
in  hunc  voluntatis  affectum,"  lib.  viii.,  cap.  3.  VViiliout  douhit  a  consider- 
able share  of  the  effect  ought  to  be  ascribed  to  the  immense  advantage  which 
the  action  and  pronunciation  of  the  orator  would  give  to  his  expression. 

*  In  the  latter  of  these  the  ancients  excel ;  in  the  former,  the  moderns, 
Demosthenes  and  Cicero,  not  to  say  Homer  and  Virgil,  to  this  day  remain 
unrivalled,  and  in  all  antiquity,  Lucian  himself  not  excepted,  we  ciunot 
find  a  match  tor  Swil't  and  Cervantes. 


THE  rniLosopnY  of  rhetoric.  31 

to  vilify  what  is  tndy  grave,  has  something  shocking  in  it, 
which  rarely  fails  to  connteract  the  end  :  secondly,  in  ag- 
grandizing things  little  and  frivolous  :  tliirdly,  in  setting  ordi 
nar}'  objects,  by  means  not  only  remote,  but  apparently  con- 
trary, in  a  particular  and  uncommon  point  of  view.*  This 
will  be  better  understood  from  tlio  following  observations  and 
examples. 

The  materials  employed  by  wit  in  the  grotesque  pieces 
she  exhibits  are  partly  derived  from  those  common  fountains 
of  whatever  is  directed  to  tlie  imaginative  powers,  the  orna- 
ments of  elocution,  and  the  oratorical  figures,  simile,  apos- 
trophe, antithesis,  metaphor ;  partly  from  those  she,  in  a 
manner,  appropriates  to  herself,  irony,  hyperbole,  allusion, 
parody,  and  (if  the  reader  will  pardon  my  descending  so  low) 
paronomasia,!  and  pun.  The  limning  of  wit  differs  from  the 
hetorical  painting  above  described  in  two  respects.  One  is, 
that  in  the  latter  there  is  not  only  a  resemblance  requisite 
in  that  particular  on  which  the  comparison  is  founded,  but 
there  must  also  be  a  general  similitude  in  the  nature  and 
quality  of  that  which  is  the  basis  of  the  imagery,  to  that 
which  is  the  theme  of  discourse.  In  respect  of  dignity,  or 
the  impression  they  make  upon  the  mind,  they  must  be  things 
homogeneous.  What  has  magnificence  must  invariably  be 
portrayed  by  what  is  magnificent ;  objects  of  importance,  by 
objects  important ;  such  as  have  grace,  by  things  graceful ; 
whereas  the  witty,  though  requiring  an  exact  likeness  in  the 
first  particular,  demands,  in  the  second,  a  contrariety  rather, 

*  I  know  no  language  which  affords  a  name  for  this  species  of  imagery 
but  the  English.  The  French  esprii,  or  bfl  esprit,  though  on  some  occasions 
rightly  translated  ivii,  hath  commonly  a  signitication  more  extensive  and 
generical.  ll  must  be  owned,  indeed,  that  in  conlormity  to  the  style  of 
French  critics,  the  term  xvit,  in  English  writings,  hath  been  sometimes  used 
with  equal  latitude.  But  this  is  certainly  a  perversion  of  the  word  from  its 
ordinary  sense,  through  an  excessive  deference  to  the  manner  and  idiom  of 
our  ingenious  neighbours.  Indeed,  when  an  author  varies  the  meaning  in 
the  same  work,  he  not  only  occasions  perplexity  to  his  reader,  but  falls  him- 
self into  an  apparent  inconsistency.  An  error  of  this  kind  in  Mr.  Pope  has 
been  lately  pointed  out  by  a  very  ingenious  and  judicious  critic.  "In  the 
essay  on  criticism  it  is  said, 

'True  wit  is  nature  to  advantage  dress'd.' 
But  immediately  after  this  the  poet  adds, 

'  For  works  may  have  more  wit  than  does  'em  good.' 

"  Now  let  us  substitute  the  definition  in  place  of  the  thing,  and  it  will  stand 
thus :  A  work  may  have  more  of  nature  dress'd  to  advantage  than  will  do  i'. 
good.  This  is  impossible  ;  and  it  is  evident  that  the  confusion  arises  from 
the  poet's  having  annexed  two  diflerent  ideas  to  the  same  word." — Webb's 
Remarks  on  the  Beauties  of  Poetry,  Dialoiiue  ii. 

+  Paronomasia  is  properly  that  figure  which  the  French  call  jeu  de  mo!.i. 
Such  as  ••  Inceptio  est  amentium,  hand  amantium."— Tfr.  Avdr.  "  Which 
templed  our  attempt."— 3W/.,  b.  i.  "To  begird  the  Almighty's  throne,  be 
seeching  or  besieging." — B.  v. 


33  THE    rUlLOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

or  remoteness.  This  enchanircss  exults  in  reconciling  con- 
tradictions, and  in  hitting  on  that  special  light  and  attitude 
wherein  you  can  discover  an  unexpected  similarity  in  objects 
which,  at  first  sight,  appear  the  most  dissimilar  and  hetero- 
geneous. Thus  high  and  low  are  coupled,  humble  and  su- 
perb, momentous  and  trivial,  common  and  extraordinary. 
Addison,  indeed,  observes,*  that  wit  is  often  produced,  not-by 
the  resemblance,  but  by  the  opposition  of  ideas.  But  this, 
of  which,  however,  he  hath  not  given  us  an  instance,  doth 
not  constitute  a  different  species,  as  the  repugnance  in  that 
case  will  always  be  found  between  objects  in  other  respects 
resembling ;  for  it  is  to  the  contrast  of  dissimilitude  and  like- 
ness, remoteness  and  relation  in  the  same  objects,  that  its 
peculiar  effect  is  imputable.  Hence  v/e  hear  of  the  flashes 
and  the  sallies  of  wit,  phrases  which  imply  suddenness,  sur- 
prise, and  contrariety.  These  are  illustrated,  in  the  first,  by 
a  term  which  implies  an  instantaneous  emergence  of  light 
in  darkness  ;  in  the  second,  by  a  word  v/hich  denotes  an  ab- 
rupt transition  tcJ -things  distant;  for  we  may  remark,  in 
passing,  that,  though  language  be  older  than  criticism,  those 
expressions  adopted  by  the  former  to  elucidate  matters  of 
taste,  will  be  found  to  have  a  pretty  close  cenforraity  to  the 
purest  discoveries  of  the  latter. 

Nay,  of  so  much  consequence  here  are  surprise  and  novel- 
ty, that  nothing  is  more  tasteless,  and  sometimes  disgusting, 
than  a  joke  that  has  become  stale  by  frequent  repetition. 
For  the  same  reason,  even  a  pun  or  happy  allusion  will  ap- 
pear excellent  when  thrown  out  extempore  in  conversation, 
which  would  be  deemed  execrable  in  print.  In  like  manner, 
a  witty  repartee  is  infinitely  more  pleasing  than  a  witty  at- 
tack ;  for,  though  in  both  cases  the  thing  may  be  equally 
new  to  the  reader  or  hearer,  the  effect  on  him  is  greatly  in- 
jured when  there  is  ground  to  suppose  that  it  may  be  the  slow 
production  of  study  and  premeditation.  This,  however,  holds 
most  with  regard  to  the  inferior  tribes  of  witticisms,  of  which 
their  readiness  is  the  best  recommendation. 

The  other  respect  in  which  wit  differs  from  the  illustra- 
tions of  the  graver  orator  is  the  way  wherein  it  aflfects  the 
hearer.  Sublimity  elevates,  beauty  charms,  wit  diverts. 
The  first,  as  has  been  already  observed,  enraptures,  and,  as 
it  were,  dilates  the  soul;  the  second  diffuseth  over  it  a  serene 
delight ;  the  third  tickles  the  fancy,  and  throws  the  spirits 
into  an  agreeable  vibration. 

To  these  reflections  I  shall  subjoin  examples  in  each  of  the 
three  sorts  of  wit  above  explained. 

It  will,  however,  be  proper  to  premise  that,  if  the  reader 
should  not  at  first  be  sensible  of  the  justness  of  the  solutions 
and  explications  to  be  given,  he  ought  not  hastily  to  form  aN 
*  Spectator. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    KHHTulUC.  33 

unhnourable  conclusion.  Wherever  there  is  taste,  the  witty 
and  the  humorous  make  themselves  perceived,  and  produce 
their  effect  instantaneously  ;  but  they  are  of  so  subtle  a  nature 
that  they  will  hardly  endure  to  be  touched,  much  less  to  un- 
dergo a  strict  analysis  and  scrutiny.  They  are  like  those 
volatile  essences  which,  being  too  delicate  to  bear  the  open 
air,  evaporate  almost  as  soon  as  they  are  exposed  to  it.  Ac- 
cordingly, the  vvittiest  things  will  sometimes  be  made  to  ap- 
pear insipid,  and  the  most  ingenious  frigid,  by  scrutinizing 
them  too  narrowly.  Besides,  the  verj'  frame  of  spirit  proper 
for  being  diverted  with  the  laughable  in  objects  is  so  different 
from  that  which  is  necessary  for  philosophizing  on  them,  that 
there  is  a  risk  that,  when  we  are  most  disposed  to  inquire 
into  the  cause,  we  are  least  capable  of  feeling  the  effect ;  as 
it  is  certain  that,  when  the  effect  hath  its  full  influence  on  us, 
we  have  little  inclination  for  investigating  the  cause.  For 
these  reasons  I  have  resolved  to  be  brief  in  my  illustrations, 
having  often  observed  that,  in  such  nice  and  abstract  in- 
quiries, if  a  proper  hint  do  not  suggest  the  matter  to  the 
reader,  he  will  be  but  more  perplexed  by  long  and  elaborate 
discussions. 

Of  the  first  sort,  which  consists  in  the  debasement  of  things 
great  and  eminent,  Butler,  among  a  thousand  other  instances, 
hath  given  us  those  which  follow  : 

"  And  now  had  Phoebus,  in  the  lap  V  i 

Of  Thetis,  taken  out  his  nap  :  j  \ 

And,  Uke  a  lobster  boil'd,  the  morn  j/'\ 

From  black  to  red  began  to  turn."*  Y     ^ 

Here  the  low  allegorical  style  of  the  first  couplet,  and  the 
simile  used  in  the  second,  afford  us  a  just  notion  of  this  low- 
est species,  which  is  distinguished  by  the  name  of  the  ludi- 
crous. Another  specimen  from  the  same  author  you  have  in 
these  lines : 

"  Great  on  the  bench,  great  in  the  saddle, 

That  could  as  well  bind  o'er  as  swaddle, 

Mighty  he  was  at  both  of  these, 

And  styled  of  v;nr  as  well  as  peace: 

So  some  rats  of  amphibious  nature 

Are  either  for  the  land  or  water." f 

In  this  coarse  kind  of  drollery  those  laughable  translations 
or  paraphrases  of  heroic  and  otl}cr  serious  poems,  wherein 
the  authors  are  said  to  be  travestied,  chiefly  abound. 

To  the  same  class  those  instances  must  be  referred  in 
which,  though  there  is  no  direct  comparison  made,  qualities 
of  real  dignity  and  importance  are  degraded  by  being  coupled 
with  things  mean  and  frivolous,  as  in  some  respect  standing 
in  the  same  predicament.  An  example  of  this  I  shall  give 
from  the  same  hand. 

*  Hudibras,  part  ii.,  canto  2.  t  Ibid.,  part  i.,  canto  1. 


34  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    KHETORIC. 

'For  when  the  restless  Greeks  sat  down 
So  many  years  before  Troy  town, 
And  were'renown'd,  r.s  Homer  writes, 
For  well  soal'd  boots*  no  less  than  fights."t 

I  sliall  only  observe  farther,  that  this  sort,  whose  aim  is  to 
debase,  delights  in  the  most  homely  expressions,  provincial 
idioms,  and  cant  phrases. 

The  second  kind,  consisting  in  the  aggrandizement  of  little 
things,  which  is  by  far  the  most  splendid,  and  displays  a  soar- 
ing imagination,  these  lines  of  Pope  will  serve  to  illustrate  : 
•  As  Berecynthia,  while  her  offspring  vie 
In  homage  to  the  mother  of  the  sky, 
Surveys  around  her  in  the  bless'd  abode 
A  hundred  sons,  and  every  son  a  god  : 
Not  with  less  glory  mighty  Dulness  crown'd. 
Shall  take  through  Grub-street  her  triumphant  round  ; 
And  her  Parnassus  glancing  o'er  at  once. 
Behold  a  hundred  sons,  and  each  a  dunce. "J 

This  whole  similitude  is  spirited.  The  parent  of  the  celes- 
tials is  contrasted  by  the  daughter  of  night  and  chaos  ;  heaven 
by  Grub-street ;  gods  by  dunces.  Besides,  the  parody  it  con- 
tains on  a  beautiful  passage  in  Virgil  adds  a  particular  lustre 
to  it.^  This  species  we  may  term  the  thrasonical,  or  the  mock- 
majesLJc.  It  affects  the  most  pompous  language  and  sonorous 
phraseology  as  much  as  the  other  affects  the  reverse,  the 
vilest  and  most  grovelling  dialect. 

I  shall  produce  another  example  from  the  same  writer, 
which  is,  indeed,  inimitably  fine.  It  represents  a  lady  em- 
ployed at  her  toilet,  attended  by  her  maid,  under  the  allegory 
of  the  celebration  of  some  solemn  and  religious  ceremony. 
The  passage  is  rather  long  for  a  quotation,  but  as  the  omis- 
sion of  any  part  would  be  a  real  mutilation,  I  shall  give  it 
entire. 

"  And  now  unveiPd,  the  toilet  stands  display'd, 
Each  silver  vase  in  mystic  order  laid. 
First,  robed  in  white,  the  nymph  intent  adores, 
With  head  uncover'd,  the  cosmotic  powers. 
A  heavenly  image  in  the  glass  appears. 
To  that  she  bends,  to  that  lier  eyes  she  rears  ; 
The  inferior  priestess  at  her  altar's  side. 
Trembling,  begins  the  sacred  riles  of  pride  ; 
Unnumber'd  treasures  opes  at  once,  and  here 
The  various  offerings  of  the  world  appear ; 
From  each  she  nicely  culls  with  curious  toil. 
And  decks  the  goddess  with  the  glittering  spoil. 

*  In  allusion  to  the  EuKv>;/ii5£y  Ayaioi,  an  expression  which  frequently 
ccurs  both  in  the  Uiad  and  in  the  Odyssey. 
t  Hudibras,  part  i.,  canto  2.  X  Dunciad,  B. 

I)  The  passage  is  this  : 

"  Felix  prole  virum,  qualis  Berecynthia  mater 
Invenitur  curru  Phrygias  turrita  per  ubes, 
Laeta  deum  partu,  centum  complexa  nepotes, 
Omnes  coelicoias,  oinnes  supera  alta  tenentes. — ^neis. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RirETORIC.  35 

This  casket  India's  glowing  gems  unlocks, 
And  all  Arabia  bieallies  from  yonder  box. 
The  tortoise  here  and  elephant  unite  : 
Transfonn'd  to  combs,  the  speckled  and  the  white. 
Her  tiles  of  pins  e.xtend  theu'  shining  rows, 
Puffs,  pov.'<lers,  patches,  Bibles,  billet  doux. 
Now  awful  beauty  puts  on  all  its  arms, 
The  fair  each  moment  rises  in  her  charms, 
Repairs  her  smiles,  awakens  every  grace, 
And  calls  forth  all  the  wonders  ot  her  face; 
Sees  by  degrees  a  purer  blush  arise, 
And  keener  lightnings  quicken  in  her  eyes."* 

To  this  class  also  we  must  refer  the  applications  or  grave 
reflections  to  mere  trifles  ;  for  that  great  and  serious  are  nat- 
urally associated  by  the  mind,  and  likewise  little  and  triflings, 
is  suftlciently  evinced  by  the  common  modes  of  expression 
on  these  subjects  used  in  every  tongue.  An  apposite  instance 
of  such  an  application  we  have  from  Philips  : 

"  My  galligaskins,  that  have  long  withstood 
The  winter's  fury  and  encroaching  frosts, 
By  time  subdued  {what  wilt  not  time  subdue/). 
An  horrid  chasm  disclose. "t 

Like  to  this,  but  not  equal,  is  that  of  Young : 

"  One  day  his  wife  (for  whn  can  icivs  reclaim  .'), 
Levell'd  her  barbarous  needle  at  his  fame. "J 

To  both  the  preceding  kinds  the  tenii  burlesque  is  applied, 
but  especially  to  the  first. 

Of  the  third  species  of  wit,  which  is  by  far  the  most  multi- 
farious, and  which  results  from  what  1  may  call  the  queer- 
ness  or  singularity  of  the  imagery,  I  shall  give  a  few  speci- 
mens that  will  serve  to  mark  some  of  its  principal  varieties. 
To  illustrate  all  would  be  impossible. 

The  first  I  shall  exemplify  is  where  there  is  an  apparent 
contrariety  in  the  thing  she  exhibits  as  connected.  This  kind 
of  contrast  we  have  in  these  lines  of  Garth  : 

"Then  Hydrops  next  appears  among  the  throng; 
Bloated  and  big  she  slowly  sails  along  : 
Bui  like  a  miser  in  excess  she's  poor. 
And  pines  for  thirst  amid  her  watery  store"<J 

The  wit  in  these  lines  doth  not  so  much  arise  from  the  com- 
parison, they  contain  of  the  dropsy  to  a  miser  (which  falls 
under  the  description  that  immediately  succeeds),  as  from  tlie 
union  of  contraries  they  present  to  the  imagination,  poverty 
iu  the  midst  of  opulence,  and  thirst  in  one  who  is  already 
drenched  in  water. 

A  second  sort  is  where  the  things  compared  are  what  with 
dialecticians  should  come  under  the  denomination  of  dispara- 
tes, being  such  as  can  be  ranked  under  no  common  genus. 
Of  this  I  shall  subjoin  an  example  from  Young; 

*  Rape  of  the  Lock,  canto  1.  t  Splendid  Shilling. 

t  Universal  Passion.  /)  Dispensary. 


JJ6  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OK    KHKTORIC 

•'  Heallh  chiefly  keeps  an  Atheist  in  the  dark ; 

A  fever  argues  better  tlian  a  Clarke; 

Lei  but  the  logic  m  his  pulse  decay. 

Then  Grecian  he'll  renounce,  and  icarn  to  pray."* 
Here,  by  implication,  health  is  compared  to  a  sophister,  or 
darkeiier  of  the  understanding,  a  fever  to  a  metaphysical  dis- 
putant, a  regular  pulse  to  false  logic,  for  the  word  logic  in  the 
third  line  is  used  ironically.  In  other  words,  we  have  here 
luodes  and  substances,  the  affections  of  the  body,  and  the  ex- 
ercise of  reason  strangely,  but  not  insignificantly,  linked  to- 
gether ;  strangely,  else  the  sentiment,  however  just,  could 
not  be  denominated  witty  ;  significantly,  because  an  unmean- 
ing jumble  of  things  incongruous  would  not  be  wit,  but  non- 
sense. 

A  third  variety  in  this  species  springs  from  confounding 
artfully  the  proper  and  the  metaphorical  sense  of  an  expres- 
sion. In  this  way,  one  will  assign  as  a  moli-ve  what  is  dis- 
covered to  be  perfectly  absurd  vhen  but  ever  so  little  attend- 
ed to  ;  and  yet,  from  the  ordinary  meaning  of  the  words,  hath 
a  specious  appearance  on  a  single  glance.  Of  this  kind  you 
have  an  instance  in  the  subsequent  lines : 

"  While  thus  they  talk'd,  the  knight 
Turn'd  th'  outside  of  his  eyes  to  white, 
As  men  of  inward  light  are  wont 
To  turn  their  optics  in  upon't."t 
For  whither  can  they  turn  their  eyes  more  properly  than  to 
the  light  1 

A  fourth  variety,  much  resembling  the  former,  is  when  the 
argument  of  comparison  (for  all  argument  is  a  kind  of  com- 
parison) is  founded  on  the'  supposal  of  corporeal  or  personal 
attributes  in  what  is  strictly  not  susceptible  of  them,  as  in  this  : 
"  But  Hudibras  gave  him  a  twitch 
As  quick  as  lightning  in  the  breech. 
Just  in  the  place  where  honour's  lodged, 
As  wise  philosophers  have  judg'd ; 
Because  a  kick  in  that  place  more 
Hurts  honour  than  deep  wounds  before."^ 

Is  demonstration  itself  more  satisfactory  1  Can  anything  be 
hurt  but  where  it  is  ]  However,  the  mention  of  this  as  the 
sage  deduction  of  philosophers  is  no  inconsiderable  addition 
to  the  wit.  Indeed,  this  particular  circumstance  belongs 
properly  to  the  first  species  mentioned,  in  which  high  and 
low,  great  and  little,  are  coupled.  Another  example,  not  ua- 
like  the  preceding,  you  have  in  these  words  : 

"  What  makes  morality  a  crime 
The  most  notorious  of  the  time  ; 
Morality,  which  both  the  saints 
And  wicked  too  cry  out  against  ? 

*  Universal  Passion.  t  Hudibras,  part  iii.,  canto  1 

I  Ibid,  part  ii.,  canto  3. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  87 

'Cause  grace  aritl  virtue  are  within 
Prohil)iio(l  degrees  of  kin  : 
And  ihereloro  no  true  saint  allows 
They  shall  be  suffer'd  to  espouse."* 

When  the  two  foregoing  instances  are  compared  together^ 
we  should  say  of  the  first,  that  it  has  more  of  simplicity  and 
nature,  and  is,  therefore,  more  pleasing;  of  the  second,  that 
it  has  more  of  ingenuity  and  conceit,  and  is,  consequently, 
more  surprising. 

The  fifth,  and  only  other  variety  I  shall  observe,  is  that 
which  ariseth  from  a  relation,  not  in  the  things  signified,  but  in 
the  signs  of  all  relations,  no  doubt  the  slightest.  Identity 
here  gives  rise  to  puns  and  clinches.  Resemblance  to  quib- 
bles, cranks,  and  rhymes :  of  these,  I  imagine,  it  is  quite 
unnecessary  to  exhibit  specimens.  The  wit  here  is  so  de- 
pendant on  the  sound,  that  it  is  commonly  incapable  of  being 
transfused  into  another  language,  and  as,  among  persons  of 
taste  and  discernment,  it  is  in  less  request  than  the  other 
sorts  above  enimierated,  those  who  abound  in  this,  and  never 
rise  to  anything  superior,  are  distinguished  by  the  diminutive 
appellation  of  witlings. 

Let  it  be  remarked  in  general,  that  from  one  or  more  of 
the  three  last-mentioned  varieties,  those  plebeian  tribes  of 
witticism,  the  conundrums,  the  rebuses,  the  riddles,  and  some 
others,  are  lineally,  though,  perhaps,  not  all  legitimately  de- 
scended. I  shall  only  add,  that  I  have  not  produced  the  fore- 
named  varieties  as  an  exact  enumeration  of  all  the  subdivis- 
ions of  which  the  third  species  of  wit  is  susceptible.  It  is 
capable,  I  acknowledge,  of  being  almost  infinitely  diversified ; 
and  it  is  principally  to  its  various  exhibitions  that  we  apply 
the  epithets  sportive,  sprightly,  ingenious,  according  as  they 
recede  more  or  less  from  those  of  the  declaimer. 

SECTION  II. 

OP    HUMODR. 

As  wit  is  the  painting,  humour  is  the  pathetic,  in  this  infe- 
rior sphere  of  eloquence.  The  nature  and  efficacy  of  hu- 
mour may  be  thus  unravelled.  A  just  exhibition  of  any  ar- 
dent or  durable  passion,  excited  by  some  adequate  cause,  in- 
stantly attacheth  sympathy,  the  common  tie  of  human  souls, 
and  thereby  communicates  the  passion  to  the  breast  of  the 
hearer.  But  when  the  emotion  is  either  not  violent  or  not 
durable,  and  the  motive  not  anything  real,  but  imaginary,  or, 
at  least,  quite  disproportionate  to  the  effect ;  or  when  the  pas- 
sion displays  itself  preposterously,  so  as  rather  to  obstruct 
than  to  promote  its  aim — in  these  cases  a  natural  representa 

♦  Hudibras,  part  iii.,  canto.  1. 
D 


38  THE    THILOSOrHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

lion,  instead  of  fellow- feelinp,  creates  amusement,  and  uni- 
versally awakens  contempt.  The  portrait,  in  the  former  case, 
we  call  pathcfic  ;  in  the  latter,  humorous*  It  was  said  thai  the 
emotion  must  be  either  not  violent,  or  not  durable.  This 
limitation  is  necessary,  because  a  passion,  extreme  in  its  de- 
gree, as  well  as  lasting,  cannot  yield  diversion  to  a  well-dis- 
posed mind,  but  generally  aftects  it  with  pity,  not  seldom  with 
a  mixture  of  horror  and  indignation.  The  sense  of  the  ri- 
diculous, though  invariably  the  same,  is,  in  this  case,  totally 
surmounted  by  a  principle  of  our  nature  much  more  powerful. 
The  passion  which  humour  addresseth  as  its  objects  is,  as 
hath  been  signified  above,  contempt.  But  it  ought  carefully 
lO  be  noted,  that  every  address,  even  every  pertinent  address 
lO  contempt,  is  not  humorous.  This  passion  is  not  less  ca- 
pable of  being  excited  by  the  severe  and  tragic  than  by  the 
merry  and  comic  maimer.  The  subject  of  humour  is  always 
character,  but  not  everything  in  «^haracter ;  its  foibles,  gener- 
ally, such  as  caprices,  little  extravagances,  weak  anxieties, 
jealousies,  childish  fondness,  pertness,  vanity,  and  self-con- 
ceit. One  finds  the  greatest  scope  for  exercising  this  talent 
in  telling  familiar  stories,  or  in  acting  any  whimsical  part  in  an 
assumed  character.  Such  a  one,  we  say,  has  the  talent  of 
humouring  a  tale,  or  any  queer  manner  which  he  chooseth  to 
exhibit.  Thus,  we  speak  of  the  passions  in  tragedy,  but  of 
the  humours  in  comedy  ;  and  even  to  express  passion  as  ap- 
pearing in  the  mo/e  trivial  occurrences  of  life,  we  commonly 
use  this  term,  as  when  we  talk  of  good-humour,  ill  humour, 
peevish  or  pleasant  humour;  hence  it  is  that  a  capricious 
temper  we  call  hmiiorsome,  the  person  possessed  of  it  a  hu- 

♦  It  ought  to  bo  observed,  that  this  term  is  also  used  to  e.^press  any  lively 
strictures  of  such  specialities  in  temper  and  conduct  as  to  have  neilhei 
moment  enough  to  interest  sympathy,  nor  incongruity  enough  to  excite 
contempt,  hi  this  case,  humour  not  tieing  addressed  to  passion,  but  to  fan- 
cy, must  be  considered  as  a  kind  of  moral  painting,  and  differs  from  wit 
only  in  these  two  things  :  first,  in  that  character  alone  is  the  subject  of  the 
former,  whereas  all  things  whatever  fall  within  the  province  of  the  latter; 
secondly,  humour  paints  more  simply  by  direct  imitation,  wit  more  variously 
by  illustration  and  imagery.  Of  this  kind  of  humour,  merely  graphical, 
Addison  hath  given  us  numberless  examples  in  many  of  the  characters  he 
hath  so  finely  drawn,  and  little  incidents  he  hath  so  pleasantly  related  in 
his  Tattlers  and  S|iectators.  [  might  remark  of  the  word  humour,  as  1  did 
of  the  term  a-U.  that  we  scarcely  find  in  other  languages  a  word  exactly 
corresponding.  The  Latin /nrf/iffi  seems  to  come  the  nearest.  Thus  Cice- 
ro, "  Huic  generi  oraiioiiis  aspergeiitur  etiam  .sales,  qui  in  dicendo  inirum 
quantum  valent :  quorum  duo  genera  sunt,  unum  facetisrum,  alterum 
dicacitatis  ;  utetur  utroque,  sed  altero  in  narranijo  aliquid  venuste  altero  in 
jaciendo  miitendoque  ridiculo  :  cujus  genera  plura  sunt." — Orator,  48.  Here 
one  would  think  that  the  philosopher  must  have  had  in  his  eye  the  differ- 
ent provinces  of  wit  and  humour,  calling  the  former  dicnciias,  the  latter 
facHicB.  It  IS  plain,  however,  that  both  by  him  and  other  Latin  authors, 
tbnse  two  words  are  often  confounded.  There  appears,  indeed,  to  be  more 
uniformity  in  the  use  that  is  made  of  the  second  term  than  in  the  applica- 
tion of  the  first. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  39 

morisl,  anJ  such  facts  or  events  as  afford  subject  for  the  hu 
morous,  we  denominate  comical. 

Indeed,  comedj'  is  tfie  proper  province  of  humour.  Wit  is 
called  in  solely  as  an  auxiliarj' ;  humour  predominates.  The 
comic  poet  bears  the  same  analogy  to  the  author  of  the  mock- 
heroic  that  the  tragic  poet  bears  to  the  author  of  the  epic. 
The  epos  recites,  and  advancing  with  a  step  majestic  and  se- 
date, eugageth  all  the  nobler  powers  of  imagination,  a  sense 
of  grandeur,  of  beauty,  and  of  order  ;  tragedy  personates,  and 
thus  employing  a  more  rapid  and  animated  diction,  seizeth 
directly  upon  the  heart.  The  little  epic,  a  narrative  intended 
for  amusement,  and  addressed  to  all  the  lighter  powers  of 
fancy,  delights  in  the  excursions  of  wit :  the  production  of 
the  comic  muse,  being  a  representation,  is  circumscribed  by 
narrower  bounds,  and  is  all  life  and  activity  throughout. 
Thus  Buckingham  says,  with  the  greatest  justness,  of  comedy, 

"  Humour  is  all.     Wit  should  be  only  brought 
To  turn  agrefiably  some  proper  thought.''* 

The  pathetic  and  the  facetious  differ  not  only  in  subject 
and  effect,  as  will  appear  upon  the  most  superficial  review  of 
what  hath  been  said,  but  also  in  the  manner  of  imitation.  In 
this  the  man  of  humour  descends  to  a  minuteness  which  the 
orator  disdains.  The  former  will  often  successfully  run  into 
downright  mimicry,  and  exhibit  peculiarities  in  voice,  ges- 
ture, and  pronunciation,  which  in  the  other  would  be  intoler- 
able. The  reason  of  the  difference  is  this  :  Tliat  we  may  di- 
vert, by  exciting  scorn  and  contempt,  the  individual  must  be 
exposed;  that  we  may  move,  by  interesting  the  more  gener- 
ous principles  of  humanity,  the  language  and  sentiments,  not 
so  much  of  the  individual  as  of  human  nature,  must  be  dis- 
played. So  very  different,  or,  rather,  opposite,  are  these  two 
in  this  respect,  that  there  could  not  be  a  more  effectual  expe- 
dient for  undoing  the  charm  of  the  most  affecting  representa- 
tion, than  an  attempt  in  the  speaker  to  mimic  the  personal 
singularities  of  the  man  for  whom  he  desires  to  interest  us. 
On  the  other  hand,  in  the  humorous,  where  the  end  is  diver- 
sion, even  over-acting,  if  moderate,  is  not  improper. 

It  was  observed  already,  that  though  contempt  be  the  on?y 
passion  addressed  by  humour,  yet  this  passion  may  with  pro- 
priety and  success  be  assailed  by  the  severer  eloquence, 
where  there  is  not  the  smallest  tincture  of  humour.  This  it 
will  not  be  beside  our  purpose  to  specify,  in  order  the  more 
effectually  to  show  the  difference.  Lord  Bolingbroke,  speak- 
ing of  the  state  of  these  kingdoms  from  the  lime  of  th(!  Res- 
toration, has  these  words:  "The  two  brothers,  Charles  and 
James,  when  in  exile,  became  infected  with  popery  to  such 
degrees  as  their  different  characters  admitted  of.     Charles 

*  Essay  on  Poetry. 


40  Tlir-     PHILOSOPHY    OF    raiKTORIC. 

had  parts,  and  his  good  understanding  served  as  an  antidote 
to  repel  the  poison.  James,  the  simplest  man  of  his  time, 
drank  off  the  whole  chalice.  The  poison  met,  in  his  compo- 
sition, with  all  the  fear,  all  the  credulity,  and  all  the  ob- 
stinacy of  temper  proper  to  increase  its  virulence,  and  to 
strengthen  its  effect.  Drunk  with  superstitious,  and  even 
enthusiastic  zeal,  he  ran  headlong  into  his  own  ruin,  while  he 
endeavoured  to  precipitate  ours.  His  Parliament  and  his 
people  did  all  they  could  to  save  themselves  by  winning  him. 
But  all  was  vain.  He  had  no  principle  on  which  they  could 
take  hold.  Even  his  good  qualities  worked  against  them ; 
and  his  love  of  his  country  went  halves  with  his  bigotry. 
How  he  succeeded  we  have  heard  from  our  fathers.  The 
Revolution  of  one  thousand  six  hundred  and  eighty-eight 
saved  the  nation  and  ruined  the  king."*  Nothing  can  be 
more  contemptuous,  and,  at  the  same  time,  less  derisive,  than 
this  representation.  We  shoulc^  readily  say  of  it  that  it  is 
strongly  animated,  and  happily  expressed  ;  but  no  man  who 
understands  English  would  say  it  is  humorous.  I  shall  add 
one  example  from  Dr.  Swift :  "  I  should  be  exceedingly  sorry 
to  find  the  Legislature  make  any  new  laws  against  the  prac- 
tice of  duelling,  because  the  methods  are  easy  and  many  for 
a  wise  man  to  avoid  a  quarrel  with  honour,  or  eng.age  in  it 
with  innocence.  And  I  can  discover  no  political  evil  in  suf- 
fering bullies,  sharpers,  and  rakes  to  rid  the  world  of  each 
other  by  a  method  of  their  own,  where  the  law  hath  not  been 
able  to  find  an  expedient."! 

For  a  specimen  of  the  humorous,  take,  as  a  contrast  to  the 
last  two  examples,  the  following  delineation  of  a  fop  : 

"  Sir  Plume  (of  amber  snuff-box  justly  vain, 
And  the  nice  conduct  of  a  clouded  cane). 
With  earnest  eyes,  and  round,  unthinking  face. 
He  first  the  snuff-box  open'd,  then  the  case, 
And  thus  broke  out  :  '  My  lord  !  why,  what  the  devil  t 
Z — ds  !  damn  the  lock !  'fore  Gad,  you  must  be  civil ! 
Plague  on't !  'tis  past  a  jest ;  nay,  prithee — pox ! 
Give  her  the  hair.'    He  spoke  and  rapped  his  box. 
'  It  grieves  me  much,'  replied  the  peer  again. 
'  Who  speaks  so  well  should  ever  speak  in  vain : 
But—'  "t 

This,  both  in  the  descriptive  and  the  dramatic  part,  particu 
larly  in  the  draught  it  contains  of  the  baronet's  mind,  aspect, 
manner,  and  eloquence  (if  we  except  the  sarcastic  term 
justly,  the  double  sense  of  the  word  open'd,  and  the  fine  irony 
couched  in  the  reply),  is  purely  facetious.  An  instance  of 
wit  and  humour  combined,  where  they  reciprocally  set  off 
and  enliven  each  other.  Pope  hath  also  furnished  us  with  in 
another  part  of  the  same  exquisite  performance. 

♦'  A  Letter  to  Sir  William  Windham.  t  Swift  on  Good  Manners. 

t  Rape  of  the  Lock,  canto  4. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  4i 

"  Whether  the  nymph  shall  break  Diana's  law, 
Or  some  frail  china  jar  receives  a  flaw  ; 
Or  stain  her  honour,  or  her  new  brocade  ; 
Forget  her  prayers,  or  miss  a  masquerade , 
Or  lose  her  heart,  or  necklace,  at  a  ball  ; 
Or  whether  Heaven  has  doom'd  that  Shock  must  fall.''* 

This  is  humorous,  in  that  it  is  a  lively  sketch  of  the  female 
estimate  of  mischances,  as  our  poet's  commentator  rightly 
terms  it,  marked  out  by  a  few  striking  lineaments.  It  is  like- 
wise witty,  for,  not  to  mention  the  play  on  words,  like  that 
remarked  in  the  former  example,  a  trope  familiar  to  this  au- 
thor, you  have  here  a  comparison  of  a  woman's  chastity  to 
a  piece  of  porcelain  ;  her  honour  to  a  gaudy  robe  ;  her  prayers 
to  a  fantastical  disguise  ;  her  heart  to  a  trinket ;  and  ail  these 
together  to  her  lapdog,  and  that  founded  on  one  lucky  cir- 
cumstance (a  malicious  critic  would  perhaps  discern  or  ima- 
gine more),  by  which  these  things,  how  unlike  soever  in  other 
respects,  may  be  compared,  the  impression  they  make  on  the 
mind  of  a  fine  lady. 

Hudibras,  so  often  above  quoted,  abounds  in  wit  in  almost 
all  its  varieties,  to  which  the  author's  various  erudition  hath 
not  a  little  contributed.  And  this,  it  must  be  owned,  is  more 
suitable  to  the  nature  of  his  poem.  At  the  same  time  it  is  by 
no  means  destitute  of  humour,  as  appears  particularly  in  the 
different  exhibitions  of  character  given  by  the  knight  and  his 
squire.  But  in  no  part  of  the  story  is  this  talent  displayed 
to  greater  advantage  than  in  the  consultation  of  the  lawyer.f 
to  which  I  shall  refer  the  reader,  as  the  passage  is  too  long 
for  my  transcribing.  There  is,  perhaps,  no  book  in  any  lan- 
guage wherein  the  humorous  is  carried  to  a  higher  pitch  of 
perfection,  than  in  the  adventures  of  the  celebrated  knight  of 
La  Mancha.  As  to  our  English  dramatists,  who  does  not 
acknowledge  the  transcendent  excellence  of  Shakspeare  in 
this  province,  as  well  as  in  the  pathetic  1  Of  the  latter  comic 
writers,  Congreve  has  an  exuberance  of  wit,  but  Farquhar 
has  more  humour.  It  may,  however,  with  too  much  truth, 
be  affirmed  of  English  comedy  in  general  (for  there  are  some 
exceptions),  that,  to  the  discredit  of  our  stage,  as  well  as  of 
the  national  delicacy  and  discernment,  obscenity  is  made  too 
often  to  supply  the  place  of  wit,  and  ribaldry  the  place  of 
humour. 

Wit  and  humour,  as  above  explained,  commonly  concur  in 
a  tendency  to  provoke  laughter,  by  exhibiting  a  curious  and 
unexpected  affinity ;  the  first,  generally  by  comparison,  either 
direct  or  implied;  the  second,  by  connecting  in  some  other 
relation,  such  as  causality  or  vicinity,  objects  apparently  the 
most  dissimilar  and  heterogeneous  ;  which  incongruous  affin- 

•  Rape  of  the  Lock,  canto  2.  f  Part  iii.,  canto  3. 

D9 


42  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

ity.  we  may  remark  by  the  way,  gives  the  true  meaning  ct 
the  word  odduxj,  and  is  the  proper  object  of  laughter. 

The  difference  between  these  and  that  grander  kind  of  elo- 
quence treated  in  the  first  part  of  this  chapter,  I  shall,  if  pos- 
sible, still  farther  illustrate  by  a  few  similitudes  borrowed 
from  the  optical  science.  The  latter  may  be  conceived  as  a 
plain  mirror,  which  faithfully  reflects  the  object,  in  colour, 
size,  and  posture.  Wit,  on  the  contrary,  Proteus-like,  trans- 
forms itself  mto  a  variety  of  shapes.  It  is  now  a  convex 
speculum,  which  gives  a  just  representation  in  form  and 
colour,  but  vrithal  reduces  the  greatest  objects  to  the  most 
despicable  littleness  ;  now  a  concave  specuhmi,  which  swells 
the  smallest  trifles  to  an  enormous  magnit^ide  ;  now,  again,  a 
speculum  of  a  cylindrical,  a  conical,  or  an  irregular  make, 
which,  though  in  colour,  and  even  in  attitude,  it  reflects  a 
pretty  strong  resemblance,  widely  varies  the  proportions. 
Humour,  when  we  consider  tbe  contrariety  of  its  effects, 
contempt  and  laughter  (which  constitute  what  in  one  word 
is  termed  derision),  to  that  sympathy  and  love  often  produced 
by  the  pathetic,  may,  in  respect  of  these,  be  aptly  compared  to 
a  concave  mirror,  when  the  object  is  placed  beyond  the  focus  ; 
in  whicli  case  it  appears,  by  reflection,  both  diminished  and 
inverted,  circumstances  which  happily  adumbrate  the  cou- 
temptible  and  the  ridiculous. 

SECTION  III. 

OF    RIDICULE. 

The  intention  of  raising  a  laugh  is  either  merely  to  divert 
by  that  grateful  titillation  which  it  excites,  or  to  influence  the 
opinions  and  purposes  of  the  hearers.  In  tliisi,  also,  the  ris- 
ible faculty,  when  suitably  directed,  hath  often  proved  a  very 
potent  engine.  When  this  is  the  view  of  the  speaker,  as 
there  is  always  an  air  of  reasoning  conveyed  under  that  spe- 
cies of  imagery,  narration,  or  description,  which  stimulates 
laughter,  these,  thus  blended,  obtain  the  appellation  of  ridi- 
cule, the  poignancy  of  which  hath  a  similar  effect,  in  futile 
subjects,  to  that  produced  by  what  is  called  the  vehement  in 
solemn  and  important  matters. 

Nor  doth  all  the  difference  between  these  lie  in  the  dignity 
of  the  subject.  Ridicule  is  not  only  confined  to  questions  of 
]ess  moment,  but  is  fitter  for  refuting  error  than  for  support- 
ing truth  ;  for  restraining  from  wrong  conduct,  than  for  in- 
citing to  the  practice  of  what  is  right.  Nor  are  these  the 
sole  restrictions  ;  it  is  not  properly  levelled  at  the  false,  but 
at  the  absurd  in  tenets;  nor  can  the  edge  of  ridicule  strike 
with  equal  force  every  species  of  misconduct:  it  is  not  the 
criminal  part  which  it  attacks,  but  that  which  we  denominate 
silly  or  foolish.     With  regard  to  doctrine,  it  is  evident  that 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  43 

It  is  not  falsity  or  mistake,  but  palpable  error  or  absurdity 
(a  thnig  hardly  conl'utable  by  mere  argumeui),  which  is  iho 
object  of  contempt ;  and.  consequently,  those  dogmas  are 
beyond  the  reach  of  cool  reasoning  which  are  within  the 
rightful  confines  of  ridicule.  That  they  are  generally  con- 
ceived to  be  so,  appears  from  the  sense  universally  assigned 
to  expressions  like  these,  "Such  a  position  is  ridiculous.  It 
doth  not  deserve  a  serious  answer."  Everybody  knows  that 
they  import  more  than  "  It  is  false."  being,  in  other  words, 
'•  This  is  such  an  extravagance  as  is  not  so  much  a  subject  of 
argument  as  of  laughter."  And  that  we  may  discover  what 
it  is,  with  regard  to  conduct,  to  which  ridicule  is  applicable, 
we  need  only  consider  the  difierenl  departments  of  tragedy 
and  of  comedy.  In  the  last  it  is  of  mighty  influence  ;  into 
the  first  it  never  legally  obtains  admitlance.  Those  things 
which  principally  come  under  its  lash  are  awkwardness,  rus- 
ticity, ignorance,  cowardice,  levity,  foppery,  pedantry,  and 
afifectation  of  every  kind.  But  against  murder,  cruelty,  par- 
ricide, ingratitude,  perfidy,*  to  attempt  to  raise  a  langh,  would 
show  such  an  uimatural  inseiisibiiity  in  the  speaker,  as  vvoui  i 
be  excessively  disgustful  to  any  audience.  To  punish  such 
enormities,  the  tragic  poet  must  take  a  very  difierenl  route. 
Now  from  this  distinction  of  vices  dr  faults  into  two  classes, 
there  hath  sprung  a  parallel  division  in  all  the  kinds  of  poesy 
which  relate  to  manners.  The  epopee,  a  picturesque  or 
graphical  poem,  is  either  heroic,  or  what  is  called  nujck-he- 
roic,  and  by  Aristotle  iambic,!  from  the  measure  in  which 
poems  of  this  kind  were  at  first  composed.  The  drama,  an 
animated  poem,  is  either  in  the  buskin  or  in  the  sock  ;  for 
farce  deserves  not  a  place  in  the  subdivision,  being  at  most 
but  a  kind  of  dramatical  apologue,  whereof  the  ciiaraclers 
are  monstrous,  the  intrigue  unnatural,  the  incidents  often  im- 
possible, and  which,  instead  of  humour,  has  adopted  a  spu- 
rious bantling,  called  fun.  To  satisfy  us  that  satire,  whose 
end  is  persuasion,  admits  also  the  like  distribution,  we  need 
only  recur  to  the  diflferent  methods  pursued  by  the  two  famous 
Latin  satirists,  Juvenal  and  Horace.  The  one  declaims,  the 
other  derides.  Accordingly,  as  Dryden  justly  observes,^  vice 
is  the  quarry  of  the  former,  folly  of  the  latter.i^     Thus,  of 

*  To  this  black  catalogue  an  ancient  pagan  of  .Athens  or  of  Rome  wovild 
have  added  adultery,  but  the  modern  retineinents  of  ns  Christians  (if  wilh- 
o\it  profanation  we  can  so  apply  the  name)  absolutely  forbid  ii,  as  nothing 
in  our  theatre  is  a  more  common  subject  of  laughter  thati  this.  Nor  is  the 
laugh  raised  against  the  adulterer,  else  we  might  have  some  plea  for  out 
morals,  it  none  for  our  taste  ;  but,  to  the  indelible  reproach  of  the  taste,  the 
sense,  and  the  virtue  of  the  nation,  in  his  favour  Mow  much  <legrner:tod 
from  our  worthier,  though  unpolished,  ancestors,  of  whom  Tacitus  aflirtus, 
"  Nemo  illic  vitia  ridet;  nee  corrumpere  et  corrum(ti  saecuhim  vocatur." — 
De  Mor.  Germ.,  c.  19.  t  Poet.  4.  t  Origin  and  Progress  of  Satire. 

•i  The  differe  ces  and  relations  to  be  found  in  the  several  forms  of  poetry 


44  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

the  three  graver  forms,  the  aim,  whether  avowed  or  latent, 
always  is,  or  ought  to  be,  the  improvement  of  morals ;  of  the 
three  lighter,  the  rehnement  of  manners.*  But  though  the 
latter  have  for  their  peculiar  object  manners,  in  the  limited 
and  distinctive  sense  of  that  word,  they  may,  with  propriety, 
admit  many  things,  which  directly  conduce  to  the  advance- 
ment of  morals,  and  ought  never  to  admit  anything  which 
hath  a  contrary  tendency.  Virtue  is  of  primary  importance, 
both  for  the  happiness  of  individuals,  and  for  the  well-being 
of  society  ;  an  external  polish  is  at  best  but  a  secondary  ac- 
complishment, ornamental,  indeed,  when  it  adds  a  lustre  to 
virtue,  pernicious  when  it  serves  only  to  embellish  profligacy, 
and  in  itself  comparatively  of  but  little  consequence,  either 
to  private  or  to  public  felicity,  f 

mentioned,  may  be  more  concisely  marked  by  the  following  scheme,  which 
brin-is  them  under  the  view  at  once : 


Serious.  Facetious. 

r  ■>  ^  ..  .  _  .     1  r^ 


^  i  Fancy— Great  Epic.  |  g"— Little  Epic 
t 


Passion — Tragedy.     V  °- — Comedy.  }  g 

-  -      1         tioii. 


Will— High  Satire.   |  »— Low  Satire. 


Insinuation.       j  Narratoi 
g  I  %  \ 

—  g  <  Conforma-   pu  {  Representet 

o  I      tiou.  (0  I 


> — ^  I  Persuasion.  H     Reasoner 

'i  I  I 


*  These  observations  will  enable  us  to  understand  that  of  the  poet : 
"  Ridiculum  acri 
Fortius  et  melius  magnas  plerumque  secat  res." — Hor. 
Great  and  signal,  it  mu-st  be  owned,  are  the  effects  of  ridicule ;  but  the  sub 
ject  must  always  appear  to  the  ridiculer,  and  to  those  affected  by  his  pleas- 
antry, under  the  notion  of  littleness  and  futility,  two  essential  requisites  in 
the  object  of  contempt  and  risibility. 

t  Whether  this  attention  has  been  always  given  to  morals,  particularly  in 
comedy,  must  be  left  to  the  determination  of  those  who  are  most  conversant 
in  that  species  of  scenic  representations.  One  may,  however,  venture  to 
prognosticate  that,  if  in  any  period  it  shall  become  fashionable  to  show  no 
regard  to  virtue  in  such  entertainments  ;  if  the  hero  of  the  piece,  a  fine  gen 
tleman,  to  be  sure,  adorned,  as  usual,  with  all  the  superficial  and  exterio: 
graces  which  the  poet  can  confer,  and  crowned  with  success  in  the  end, 
shall  be  an  unprincipled  libertine,  a  man  of  more  spirit,  forsooth,  than  to  be 
checked  in  his  pursuits  by  the  restraints  of  religion,  by  a  regard  to  the  com- 
mon rights  of  mankind,  or  by  the  laws  of  hospitality  and  private  friendship, 
which  were  accounted  sacred  among  pagans  and  those  whom  we  denomi 
nate  barbarians;  then,  indeed,  the  stage  will  become  merely  the  school  of 
gallantry  and  intrigue ;  thither  the  youth  of  both  se.Kes  will  resort,  and  will 
not  resort  in  vain,  in  order  to  get  rid  of  that  troublesome  companion,  mod- 
esty, intended  by  Providence  as  a  guard  to  virtue,  and  a  check  against  li- 
centiousness ;  there  vice  will  soon  learn  to  provide  herself  in  a  proper  Hock 
of  effrontery,  and  a  suitable  address  for  effecting  her  design*,  and  triumph- 
ing over  innocence  ;  then,  in  fine,  if  religion,  virtue,  principle,  equity,  grati- 
tude, and  good  faith,  are  not  empty  sounds,  the  stage  will  prove  the  great- 
est of  nuisances,  and  deserve  lo  be  styled  the  principal  corrupter  of  the  age. 
Whether  such  an  era  hath  ever  happened  in  the  history  of  the  theatre,  in 
this  or  any  other  country,  or  is  likely  to  happen,  I  do  not  take  upon  me  to 
decide. 


THE    PHFLOSOPHY    OF    RHETOUIC.  45 

Another  remarkable  difference,  the  only  one  which  re- 
mains to  be  observed,  between  the  vehement  or  contentious 
and  the  derisive,  consists  in  the  manner  of  conducting  them. 
As  in  each  there  is  a  mixture  of  argument,  this  in  the  former 
ought,  in  appearance  at  least,  to  have  the  ascendant,  but  not 
in  the  latter.  The  attack  of  the  declaimer  is  direct  and  open  ; 
argument,  therefore,  is  his  avowed  aim.  On  the  contrary,  the 
passions  which  he  excites  ought  never  to  appear  to  tlie  audi- 
tors as  the  effects  of  his  intention  and  adciress,  but  both  in 
him  and  them,  as  the  native,  the  unavoidable  consequences 
of  the  subject  treated,  and  of  that  convix;tion  which  his  rea- 
soning produces  in  the  understanding.  Although,  in  fact,  he 
intends  to  move  his  auditory,  he  only  declares  his  purpose  to 
convince  them.  To  reverse  this  method,  and  profess  an  in- 
tention to  work  upon  their  passions,  would  be,  in  effect,  to  tell 
them  that  he  meant  to  impose  upon  their  understandings,  and 
to  bias  them  by  his  art,  and,  consequently,  would  be  to  warn 
them  to  be  on  their  guard  against  him.  Nothing  is  better 
founded  than  the  famous  aphorism  of  rhetoricians,  that  the 
perfection  of  art  consists  in  concealing  the  art.*  On  the 
other  hand,  the  assault  of  him  vvlio  ridicules  is  from  its  very 
nature  covert  and  oblique.  What  we  profess  to  contemn, 
we  scorn  to  confute.  It  is  on  this  account  that  the  reason- 
mg  in  ridicule,  if  at  all  delicate,  is  always  conveyed  under  a 
species  of  disguise.  Nay,  sometimes,  which  is  more  aston- 
ishing, the  contempt  itself  seems  to  be  dissembled,  and  the 
railer  assumes  an  air  of  arguing  gravely  in  defence  of  that 
which  he  actually  exposeth  as  ridiculous.  Hence,  undoubt- 
edly, it  proceeds,  that  a  serious  manner  commonly  adds  en- 
ergy to  a  joke.  The  fact,  however,  is,  that  in  this  case  the 
very  dissimulation  is  dissembled.  He  would  not  have  you 
think  him  in  earnest,  though  he  affects  the  appearance  of  it, 
knowing  that  otherwise  his  end  would  be  frustrated.  He 
wants  that  you  should  perceive  that  he  is  dissembling,  which 
no  real  dissembler  ever  wanted.  It  is,  indeed,  this  circum- 
stance alone  which  distinguishes  an  ironical  expression  from 
a  he.  Accordingly,  through  the  thinness  of  the  veil  employ- 
ed, lie  takes  care  that  the  sneer  shall  be  discovered.  You 
are  quickly  made  to  perceive  his  aim,  by  means  of  the 
strange  arguments  lie  produces,  the  absurd  consequences  he 
draws,  the  odd  embarrassments  which  in  his  personated 
character  he  is  involved  in,  and  the  still  odder  methods 
he  takes  to  disentangle  himself.  In  this  manner  doctrines 
and  practices  are  treated,  when  exposed  by  a  continued  run 
of  irony ;  a  way  of  refutation  which  bears  a  strong  analogy 
to  that  species  of  demonstration  termed  by  mathematicians 
apagogical,  as  reducing  the  adversary  to  vvliat  is  coatracHe 

*  Artis  est  celaie  artem 


46  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

tory  or  impnicticable.  This  method  seems  to  have  been 
first  introduced  into  moral  subjects,  and  employed  with  suc- 
cess, by  the  father  of  ancient  wisdom,  Socrates.  As  the  at- 
tack of  ridicule,  whatever  form  it  adopts,  is  always  indirect, 
that  of  irony  may  be  said  to  be  reverted.  It  resembles  the 
manner  of  figliting  ascribed  to  the  ancient  Parthians,  who 
were  ever  more  formidable  in  flight  than  in  onset;  who 
looked  towards  one  quarter,  and  fought  towards  the  opposite  ; 
whose  bodies  moved  in  one  direction,  and  their  arrows  in  the 
contrary.* 

It  remains  now  to  confirm  and  illustrate  this  branch  of  the 
theory  by  suitable  examples.  And,  not  to  encumber  the 
reader  with  a  needless  multiplicity  of  excerptions,  I  shall 
first  recur  to  those  already  produced.  The  first,  second,  and 
fifth  passages  from  Butler,  the  first  from  Pope,  the  first  from 
Young,  and  the  quotation  from  the  Dispensary,  though  witty, 
have  no  ridicule  in  them.  Their  whole  aim  is  to  divert  by 
the  oddness  of  the  imagery.  This  merits  a  careful  and  par- 
ticular attention,  as  on  the  accuracy  of  our  conceptions  here 
depends,  in  a  great  measure,  our  forming  a  just  notion  of  the 
relation  which  ridicule  bears  to  wit,  and  of  the  distinction  that 
subsists  between  them.  Let  this,  therefore,  be  carefully  re- 
membered, that  where  nothing  reprehensible,  or  supposed  to 
be  reprehensible,  either  in  conduct  or  in  sentiment,  is  struck 
at,  there  is  properly  no  satire  (or,  as  it  is  sometimes  termed 
emphatically  enough,  pointed  wit),  and,  consequently,  no  ridi- 
cule. 

The  example  that  first  claims  a  particular  notice  here  is 
one  from  Young's  Satires  : 

"  Health  chiefly  keeps  an  Atheist  in  the  dark,"  &c. 
The  witnesses  of  this  passage  was  already  illustrated  ;  I  shall 
now  endeavour  to  show  the  argument  couched  under  it,  both 
which  together  constitute  the  ridicule.  "  Atheism  is  unrea- 
sonable." Why  1  "  The  Atheist  neither  founds. his  unbelief 
on  reason,  nor  will  attend  to  it.  Was  ever  an  infidel  in  health 
convinced  by  reasoning i  or  did  he  ever  in  sickness  need  to 
be  reasoned  with  on  this  subject?  The  truth,  then,  is,  that 
llie  daring  principles  of  the  libertine  are  solely  supported  by 
the  vigour  and  healthiness  of  his  constitution,  which  incline 
him  to  pleasure,  thoughtlessness,  and  presumption  ;  accord- 
ingly, you  find,  that  when  this  foundation  is  subverted,  the 
whole  fabric  of  infidelity  falls  to  pieces."  There  is  rarely, 
however,  so  much  of  argument  in  ridicule  as  may  be  discov- 
ered in  this  passage.  Generally,  as  was  observed  already, 
it  is  but  hinted  in  a  single  word  or  phrase,  or  appears  to  be 

*  Miles  sagittas  et  celerem  fugam 

Parthi perhorrescit. — HoR. 

Fidentemque  fuga  Parthum  versisque  fagittis.— -Viro 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  47 

glanced  at  occasionally,  without  any  direct,  intention.  Thus, 
in  the  third  (}Uotatic)n  from  Butler,  there  is  an  oblique  thrust 
at  Homer  for  his  manner  of  reciri-rino;  so  often,  in  poems  of 
so  great  dignity,  to  sncli  •iieaii  and  trilling  epithets.  Tlie 
fourlii  and  tiie  sixth  satirize  the  particular  fanatical  practice, 
and  fanatical  opinion,  to  whicii  they  refer.  To  assign  a  pre- 
posterous motive  to  an  action,  or  to  produce  an  absurd  argu- 
ment for  an  opinion,  is  au  innuendo  that  no  good  motive  or 
argument  can  be  given.*  The  citations  from  the  Rape  of  the 
Lock  are  no  otherwise  to  be  considered  as  ridicule,  than  as 
a  lively  exhibition  of  some  follies,  eitlier  iu  disposition  or  in 
behaviour,  is  the  strongest  dissuasive  from  imitating  them. 
In  this  way  humour  rarely  fails  to  have  some  raillery  in  it, 
in  like  manner  as  the  pathetic  often  persuades  without  argu- 
ment, which,  when  obvious,  is  supplied  by  the  judgment  of 
the  hearer.f  The  second  example  seems  intended  to  dis- 
grace the  petty  quaintness  of  a  fop's  manner,  and  the  empti- 
ness of  his  conversation,  as  being  a  huddle  of  oaths  and  non- 
sense. The  third  finely  satirizes  the  value  which  the  ladies 
too  often  put  upon  the  merest  trifles.  To  these  1  shall  add 
one  instance  more  from  Hudibras,  where  it  is  said  of  priests 
and  exorcists, 

"  Supplied  with  spiritual  provision, 
And  magazines  of  ammunition, 
With  crosses,  relics,  crucifixes, 
Beads,  pictures,  rosaries,  and  pi.xes, 
The  tools  of  working  out  salvation, 
By  mere  mechanic  operation."!: 

The  reasoning  here  is  sufliciently  insinuated  by  the  happy 
application  of  a  few  words,  such  as  mechanic  tools  to  the 
work  of  salvation;  crosses,  relics,  beads,  pictures,  and  other 
such  trumpery,  to  spiritual  provision.  The  justness  of  the 
representation  of  their  practice,  together  with  the  manifest 
incongruity  of  the  things,  supply  us  at  once  with  the  wit  and 
the  argument.  There  is  in  this  poem  a  great  deal  of  ridicule  ; 
but  the  author's  quarry  is  the  frantic  excesses  of  enthusiasm 
and  the  base  artifices  of  hypocrisy  ;  he  very  rarely,  as  in  the 
above  passage,  points  to  the  idiot  gewgaws  of  superstition. 
I  shall  only  add  one  instance  from  Pope,  which  has  some- 
thing peculiar  in  it : 

"Then sighing  thus,  *And  am  1  now  threescore? 
Ah  !  why, ye  gods  !  should  two  and  two  make  four?'"^ 

♦  We  have  an  excellent  specimen  of  this  sort  of  ridicule  in  Montesquieu's 
Spirit  of  Laws,  b.  xv.,  c.  v.,  where  the  practice  of  Europeans  in  enslaving 
the  negroes  is  ironically  justified,  in  a  manner  which  does  honour  to  the 
author's  humanity  and  love  of  justice,  at  the  same  tune  that  it  displays  a 
happy  talent  in  ridicule. 

t  Ridicule,  resulting  from  a  simple  but  humorous  narration,  is  finely  illus- 
trated in  the  first  ten  or  twelve  Provincial  Letters. 

t  Part  iii..  canto  1.  ^  Duncind. 


18  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

This,  though  not  in  the  narrative,  but  in  the  dramatic  style, 
is  more  witty  than  humorous.  The  absurdity  of  the  excla- 
malion  in  the  second  line  is  too  gross  to  be  natural  to  any  but 
a  madman,  and,  therefore,  hath  not  humour.  Nevertheless, 
its  resemblance  to  the  common  complaint  of  old  age,  con 
tained  in  the  first,  of  which  it  may  be  called  the  analysis,  ren- 
ders it  at  once  both  an  ingenious  exhibition  of  such  complaint 
in  its  real  import,  and  an  argument  of  its  folly.  But,  notwith- 
standing this  example,  it  holds  in  general,  that  when  any- 
thing nonsensical  in  principle  is  to  be  assailed  by  ridicule,  the 
natural  ally  of  reason  is  wit ;  when  any  extravagance  or  im- 
propriety in  conduct,  humour  seldom  fails  to  be  of  the  con- 
federacy. It  may  be  farther  observed,  that  the  words  banter 
and  raillery  are  also  used  to  signify  ridicule  of  a  certain  form, 
applied,  indeed,  more  commonly  to  practices  than  to  opinions, 
and  oftener  to  the  little  peculiarities  of  individuals  than  to  the 
distinguishing  customs  or  usages  of  sects  and  parties.  The 
only  difference  in  meaning,  as  far  as  I  have  remarked,  be- 
tween the  two  terms,  is,  that  the  first  generally  denotes  a 
coarser,  the  second  a  finer  sort  of  ridicule ;  the  former  pre- 
vails most  among  the  lower  classes  of  the  people,  the  latter 
only  among  persons  of  breeding. 

I  shall  conclude  this  chapter  with  observing,  that  though 
the  gayer  and  more  familiar  eloquence,  now  explained,  may 
often  properly,  as  was  remarked  before,  be  admitted  into 
public  orations  on  subjects  of  consequence,  such,  for  instance 
as  are  delivered  in  the  senate  or  at  the  bar,  and  even  some- 
times, though  more  sparingly,  on  the  bench,  it  is  seldom  or 
never  of  service  in  those  which  come  from  the  pulpit.  It  is 
true  that  an  air  of  ridicule  in  disproving  or  dissuading,  by  ren- 
dering opinions  or  practices  contemptible,  hath  occasionally 
been  attempted,  with  approbation,  by  preachers  of  great  name. 
I  can  only  say,  that  when  this  airy  manner  is  employed,  it  re- 
quires to  be  managed  with  the  greatest  care  and  delicacy, 
that  it  may  not  degenerate  into  a  strain  but  ill  adapted  to  so 
seriouj  an  occupation:  for  the  reverence  of  the  place,  the 
gravity  of  the  function,  the  solemnity  of  worship,  the  severi- 
ty of  the  precepts,  and  the  importance  of  the  motives  of  re- 
ligion ;  above  all,  the  awful  presence  of  God,  with  a  sense  of 
which  the  mind,  when  occupied  in  religious  exercises,  ought 
eminently  to  be  impressed — all  these  seem  utterly  incompati- 
ble with  the  levity  of  ridicule.  They  render  jesting  Imperti- 
nence, and  laughter  madness.  Therefore,  anything  in  preach- 
ing which  might  provoke  this  emotion,  would  justly  be  deem- 
ed an  unpardonable  offence  against  both  piety  and  decorum. 

In  the  two  preceding  chapters  I  have  considered  the  nature 
of  oratory  in  general,  its  various  forms,  whether  arising  from 
difference  in  the  object,  understanding,  imagination,  passion, 
will;  or  in  the  subject,  eminent  and  severe,  light  and  frivo- 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  49 

lous,  with  their  respective  ends  and  characters.  Under  these 
are  included  ail  the  primary  and  characterislical  qualities  of 
whatever  can  pertinently  find  a  place  either  in  writing  or*in 
discourse,  or  can  truly  be  termed  fine  in  the  one,  or  eloquent 
in  the  other. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  DOCTRINE  OF  THE  PRECEDING  CHAPTER  DEFENDED. 

Before  I  proceed  to  another  topic,  it  will  perhaps  be  thought 
proper  to  inquire  how  far  the  theory  now  laid  down  and  ex- 
plained coincides  with  the  doctrines  on  this  article  to  be  found 
in  the  writings  of  philosophers  and  critics.  Not  that  I  think 
such  inquiries  and  discussions  always  necessary  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, I  imagine  they  often  tend  but  to  embarrass  the  reader, 
by  distracting  his  attention  to  a  multiplicity  of  objects,  and 
so  to  darken  and  perplex  a  plain  question.  This  is  particu- 
larly the  case  on  those  points  on  which  there  hath  been  a  va- 
riety of  jarring  sentiments.  The  simplest  way  and  the  most 
perspicuous,  and  generally  that  which  best  promotes  the  dis- 
covery of  truth,  is  to  give  as  distinct  and  methodical  a  de- 
lineation as  possible  of  one's  own  ideas,  together  with  the 
grounds  on  which  they  are  founded,  and  to  leave  it  to  the 
doubtful  reader  (who  thinks  it  worth  the  trouble)  to  compare 
the  theory  with  the  systems  of  other  writers,  snd  then  to  judge 
for  himself  I  am  not,  however,  so  tenacious  of  this  method 
as  not  to  allow  that  it  may  sometimes,  with  advantage,  be  de- 
parted from.  This  holds  especially  when  the  sentiments  of 
an  author  are  opposed  by  inveterate  prejudices  in  the  reader, 
arising  from  contrary  opinions  early  imbibed,  or  from  an  ex- 
cessive deference  to  venerable  names  and  ancient  authorities. 

SECTION  I. 

Aristotle's  account  of  The  Ridiculous  explained 

Some,  on  a  superficial  view,  may  imagine  that  the  doctrine 
above  expounded  is  opposed  by  no  less  authority  than  that  of 
Aristotle.  If  it  were,  I  should  not  think  that  equivalent  to  a 
demonstration  of  its  falsity.  But  let  us  hear :  Aristotle  hath 
observed,  that  "  the  ridiculous  implies  something  deformed, 
and  consists  in  those  smaller  faults  which  are  neither  painful 
nor  pernicious,  but  unbeseeming :  thus,  a  face  excites  laugh- 
ter wherein  there  is  deformity  and  distortion  without  pain." 
For  my  part,  nothing  can  appear  more  coincident  than  this, 
as  far  as  it  goes,  with  the  principles  which  I  have  endeavour- 


50  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    ETfuiTORrC. 

ed  to  establish.  The  Stagyrite  hero  speaks  of  ridicule,  not 
of  biiigliter  in  general ;  and  not  of  every  sort  of  ridicnie,  but 
soToly  of  tlie  ridiculous  in  manners,  of  which  he  hath  in  few 
words  given  a  very  apposite  description.  To  take  notice  of 
any  other  laughable  object  would  have  been  foreign  to  hia 
purpose.  Laughter  is  not  his  theme,  but  comedy,  and  laugh- 
ter only  so  far  as  comedy  is  concerned  with  it.  Now  the 
concern  of  comedy  reaches  no  farther  than  that  kind  of  ridi- 
cule which,  as  I  said,  relates  to  manners.  The  very  words 
with  whicli  the  above  quotation  is  introduced  evince  the  truth 
of  this  :  "  Comedy,"  says  he,  '*is,  a;^  we  remarked,  an  imita- 
tion of  things  that  are  amiss  ;  yet  it  does  not  level  at  every 
vice."*  He  had  remarked  in  the  preceding  chapter,  that  ila 
means  of  correction  are  '•  not  reproach,  but  ridicule. ''f  Nor 
does  the  clause  in  the  end  of  the  sentence,  concerning  a  coun- 
tenance whicli  raises  laughter,  ii'  the  least  invalidate  what  I 
have  now  alhinied  ;  for  it  is  plain  that  this  is  suggested  in  a 
way  of  similitude,  to  illustrate  what  he  had  advanced,  and 
not  as  a  particular  instance  of  the  position  he  had  laid  down. 
For  we  can  never  suppose  that  he  would  have  called  distort- 
ed features  "a  certain  fault  or  slip,"t  and  still  less  that  he 
would  have  specified  this,  as  what  might  be  corrected  by  the 
art  of  the  comedian.  As  an  instance,  therefore,  it  would 
have  confuted  his  definition,  and  shown  that  his  account  of 
the  object  of  laughter  must  be  erroneous,  since  this  emotion 
may  be  excited,  as  appears  from  the  example  produced  by 
himself,  where  there  is  nothing  faulty  or  vicious  in  any  kind 
or  degree.  As  an  illustration  it  was  extremely  pertinent.  It 
showed  thr.t  the  ridiculous  in  manners  (which  was  all  that  his 
definition  regarded)  was,  as  far  as  the  diflerent  nature  of  the 
things  would  permit,  analogous  to  the  laughable  in  other  sub- 
jects, and  that  it  supposed  an  incongruous  combination,  where 
tiiere  is  nothing  either  calamitous  or  destructive.  But  that 
in  other  objects  imconnected  with  either  character  or  con- 
duct, with  either  the  body  or  the  soul,  there  might  not  be 
images  or  exhibitions  presented  to  the  mind  which  would 
naturally  provoke  laughter,  the  philosopher  hath  nowhere,  as 
far  as  I  know,  so  much  as  insinuated. 

SECTION  11. 

HOBBES'S    ACCOUNT    OF    LaVghter    EXAMINED. 

From  the  founder  of  the  peripatetic  school,  let  us  descend 
to  the  philosopher  of  Malmesbury.  who  hath  defined  laugh- 

*  The  whole  passage  runs  thus:  'H  h  <cu)//i.)(Tta  tcrriv.  (Lirrtp  tiiro/icv, /it- 
fiitnii  (pavXoTtiyuiv  fiiv,  ov  /icvroi  Kara  Taaav  Kaxiav  aX^n  tov  aicypav  ecTt  to  ycXoiot 
fiopiov  TO  yufi  yt\oiov  tariv  uftiiprnitu  Tj  <cu  itivyoi  avuivvov  Kat  ov  ipdapTiKOV' 
iioi'  tuflus  TO  yiSo.ov  TTjtoatfnov  ainyjjuv  ri  tai  titOTjiu n^ivov avtv  bivvra  — l^cet5 

*•   Ov  v^oyov  i/AAa  to  y (\otov  i pa fiuTO  itoiriani.  {  ^Afaprrina  T» 


THE   PHILOSOPHV    OF    RHETORIC.  51 

ter  "a  sudden  glory,  arising  from  a  sudden  coiicei>fion  of 
some  eminency  in  ourselves,  by  comparison  with  the  infirm- 
ity of  others,  or  with  our  own  formerly."*  This  account  is, 
I  acknowledge,  incompatible  with  that  given  in  the  prece- 
ding pages,  and,  in  my  judgment,  results  entirely  from  a  view 
of  the  subject  which  is  in  some  respect  partial,  and  in  some 
respect  false.  It  is  in  some  respect  i)artial.  When  laughter 
is  produced  by  ridicule,  it  is,  doubtless,  accompanied  with 
some  degree  of  contempt.  Ridicule  as  hath  been  observed 
already,  has  a  double  oprration :  fir  on  the  fancy,  by  pre- 
senting to  it  such  a  group  as  constii^  r-s  a  laughable  object ; 
secondly,  on  the  passion  mentioned,  by  exhibiting  al>surdity 
in  human  character,  in  j  rinciples,  or  in  conduct:  and  con- 
tempt alway  implies  a  sense  of  superiority.  No  wonder, 
then,  that  one  likes  not  to  be  ridiculed  or  laughed  at.  Now 
it  is  this  union  which  is  the  great  source  of  this  author's  er- 
ror, and  of  his  attributing  to  one  of  the  associated  piinciples, 
from  an  imperfect  view  of  the  subject,  what  is  purely  the  ef- 
fect of  the  other. 

For,  that  the  emotion  (ailed  laugh'er  doth  not  result  from 
the  contempt,  but  solely  from  the  pt-rception  of  oddity  with 
which  the  passion  is  occasionally,  not  necessarily,  combined, 
is  manifest  from  the  following  conj'iderations.  First,  con- 
tempt may  be  raised  in  a  very  high  degree,  both  suddenly  and 
unexpectedly,  without  pr>iducing  the  least  tendency  to  laugh. 
Of  this  instances  have  been  given  already  from  Bolingbroke 
and  Swift,  and  innumerable  others  >viil  occur  to  those  who 
are  conversant  in  the  writings  of  those  authors.  Secondly, 
laughter  may  be,  and  is  daily  produced  by  the  perception  of 
incongruous  association,  when  then^  is  no  contempt.  And 
this  shows  that  Hobbes's  view  of  th(!  matter  is  falfe  as  well 
as  partial.  "Men,"  says  he,  "laugh  at  jests,  the  \  where- 
of always  consisteth  in  tlie  elegant  discovering  ana  convey- 
ing to  our  minds  some  absurdity  of  another."!  I  maintain 
that  men  also'laugh  at  je^ts,  the  wit  whereof  doth  not  consist 
in  discovering  any  absunhty  of  another;  for  all  jests  do  not 
come  within  his  description.  On  a  careful  peru?al  of  the 
foregoing  sheets,  the  reader  will  find  that  there  have  been 
several  instances  of  this  kind  produced  already,  in  which  it 
hath  been  observed  that  there  is  wit,  but  no  ridicule.  I  shall 
bring  but  one  other  instance.  Many  have  laughed  at  the 
queerne?s  of  the  comparison  in  theso  lines, 
*'  For  rhyme  the  i  idder  is  of  verses, 
With  which,  lik,-!  ships,  they  s-teer  their  courseF,"}: 

who  never  dreamed  that  there  was  any  person  or  party,  prac- 
tice or  opinion,  derided  in  them.     But  as  people  are  often 

♦  Human  Nature,  chap,  ix.,  ^  13.  t  Ibid 

t  Hi'dibras,  part  i.,  canto  1. 


52  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

vory  ingenious  in  their  manner  of  defending  a  favourite  hy- 
pothesis, if  any  admirer  of  the  Hobbesian  philosophy  should 
pietend  to  discover  some  class  of  men  whom  the  poet  here 
meant  to  ridicule,  he  ought  to  consider,  that  if  any  one  hath 
bren  tickled  with  the  passage  to  whom  the  same  thought 
nover  occurred,  that  single  instance  would  be  sufficient  to 
subvert  the  doctrine,  as  it  would  show  that  there  may  be 
laughter  where  there  is  no  triumph  or  glorying  over  anybody, 
and,  consequently,  no  conceit  of  one's  own  superiority.  So 
tliat  there  may  be,  and  often  is,  both  contempt  without  laugh- 
ter, and  laughter  without  contempt. 

Besides,  where  wit  is  really  pointed,  which  constitutes  ridi- 
cule, that  it  is  not  from  what  gives  the  conceit  of  our  own 
eminence  by  comparison,  but  purely  from  the  odd  assemblage 
of  ideas,  that  the  laughter  springs,  is  evident  from  this,  that 
if  you  make  but  a  trifling  alteration  on  the  expression,  so  as 
to  destroy  the  wit  (which  often  turns  on  a  very  little  circum- 
stance), without  altering  the  real  import  of  the  sentence  (a 
thing  not  only  possible,  but  easy),  you  will  produce  the  same 
opinion  and  the  same  contempt,  and,  consequently,  will  give 
the  same  subject  of  triumph,  yet  without  the  least  tendency 
to  laugh ;  and  conversely,  in  reading  a  well-written  satire,  a 
man  may  be  much  diverted  by  the  wit,  whose  judgment  is  not 
convinced  by  the  ridicule  or  insinuated  argument,  and  whose 
former  esteem  of  the  object  is  not  in  the  least  impaired.  In- 
deed, men's  telling  their  own  blunders,  even  blunders  recent- 
ly committed,  and  laughing  at  them,  a  thing  not  uncommon 
ill  very  risible  dispositions,  is  utterly  inexplicable  on  Hobbes's 
system :  for,  to  consider  the  thing  only  with  regard  to  the 
laugher  himself,  there  is  to  him  no  subject  of  glorying  that 
is  not  counterbalanced  by  an  equal  subject  of  humiliation  (he 
being  both  the  person  laughing,  and  the  person  laughed  at), 
and  these  two  subjects  must  destroy  one  another.  With  re- 
gard to  others,  he  appears  solely  under  the  notion  of  inferi- 
ority, as  the  person  triurnphed  over.  Indeed,  as  in  ridicule, 
agreeably  to  the  doctrine  here  propounded,  there  is  always 
some  degree,  often  but  a  very  slight  degree,  of  contempt ;  it 
i.^  not  every  character,  I  acknowledge,  that  is  fond  of  present- 
ing to  others  such  subjects  of  mirth.  Wherever  one  shows  a 
jironeness  to  it,  it  is  demonstrable  that  on  that  person  sociality 
and  the  love  of  laughter  have  much  greater  influence  than 
vanity  or  self-conceit :  since,  for  the  sake  of  sharing  with 
others  in  the  joyous  entertainment,  he  can  submit  to  the  mor- 
tifying circumstance  of  being  the  subject.  This,  however,  is 
in  eflfect  no  more  than  enjoying  the  sweet  which  predomi- 
nates, notwithstanding  a  little  of  the  bitter  with  which  it  is 
mingled.  The  laugh  in  this  case  is  so  far  from  being  expres- 
sive of  the  passion,  that  it  is  produced  in  spite  of  the  passion, 
which  operates  against  it,  and,  if  strong  enough,  would  eflectu- 
ally  restrain  it. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  53 

But  it  is  impossible  that  there  could  be  any  enjoyment  t.) 
him,  on  the  other  hypothesis,  whicli  makes  tlie  huigliier 
merely  the  expression  of  a  triumph,  occasioned  by  the  sucl- 
den  display  of  one's  own  comparative  excellence,  a  triumph 
in  which  the  person  derided  could  not  partake.  In  this  case, 
on  the  contrary,  he  must  undoubtedly  sustain  the  part  of  the 
weeper  (according  to  the  account  which  the  same  author 
luith  given  of  that  opposite  passion,*  as  he  calls  it),  and 
"  suddenly  fall  out  with  himself,  on  the  sudden  conception  (>f 
defect."  To  suppose  that  a  person,  in  laughing,  enjoys  the 
contempt  of  himself  as  a  matter  of  exultation  over  his  own 
infirmit}',  is  of  a  piece  with  Cowley's  description  of  envy  ex- 
aggerated to  absurdity,  wiierein  she  is  suid 

"To  envy  at  the  praise  herself  liad  \von."t 
In  the  same  waj^  a  miser  may  be  said  to  grudge  the  money 
that  himself  hath  got,  or  a  glutton  the  repasts  :  for  the  lust 
of  praise  as  much  terminates  in  self  as  avarice  or  gluttony. 
It  is  a  strange  sort  of  theory  which  makes  the  frustration  of 
a  passion,  and  the  gratification,  the  same  thing. 

As  to  the  remark  that  wit  is  not  the  only  cause  of  this 
emotion,  that  men  laugh  at  indecencies  and  mischances,  no- 
thing is  more  certain.  A  well-dressed  man  falling  into  the 
kennel,  will  raise,  in  the  spectators,  a  peal  of  laughter.  But 
this  confirms,  instead  of  weakening,  the  doctrine  here  laid 
down.  The  genuine  object  is  always  things  grouped  together 
in  which  there  is  some  striking  unsuitablcness.  The  effect 
is  much  the  same,  whether  the  things  themselves  are  pre- 
sented to  the  senses  by  external  accident,  or  the  ideas  of  them 
are  presented  to  the  imagination  by  wit  and  humour  ;  though 
it  is  only  with  the  latter  that  the  subject  of  eloquence  is  con- 
cerned. 

In  regard  to  Hobbes's  system,  I  shall  only  remark  farther, 
that  according  to  it,  a  very  risible  man,  and  a  very  self-con- 
ceited, supercilious  man,  should  imply  the  same  character, 
yet,  in  fact,  perhaps  no  two  characters  more  rarely  meet  in 
the  same  person.  Pride,  and  contempt,  its  usual  attendant, 
considered  in  themselves,  are  unpleasant  passions,  and  tend 
to  make  men  fastidious,  always  finding  ground  to  be  dissatis- 
fied with  their  situation  and  their  company.  Accordingly, 
those  who  are  most  addicted  to  these  passions,  are  not,  gen- 
erally, the  happiest  of  mortals.  It  is  only  when  the  last  ot 
these  hath  gotten  for  an  alloy  a  considerable  share  of  sensi- 
bility in  regard  to  wit  and  humour,  which  serves  both  to  mod- 
erate and  to  sweeten  the  passion,  that  it  can  be  termed  in 
any  degree  sociable  or  agreeable.  It  hath  been  often  re- 
marked of  very  proud  persons  that  they  disdain  to  laugh,  as 
thinking  that  it  derogates  from  their  dignity,  and  levels  them 

•  Hobbes's  Hum.  Nat ,  ch.  ix.,  ij  14.  t  Davideis,  book  L 


54  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

too  much  with  the  common  herd.  The  merriest  people,  on 
the  c  )ntrary,  are  the  least  suspected  of  being  haughty  and 
contemptuous  people.  The  compMuy  of  the  former  is  gen- 
eral!} as  much  courted  is  that  of  ihe  latter  is  shunned.  To 
refer  ourselves  to  such  universal  observations  is  to  appeal  to 
the  common  sense  of  mankind.  How  admirably  is  the  height 
of  pride  and  arrogance  touched  in  the  character  which  Caesai 
gives  of  Cassius ! 

"  He  loves  i  o  plays 
As  thou  dost,  Antony  ;  he  hea  s  no  music, 
Seldom  he  smik  s,  and  smiles  in  such  a  sort, 
As  if  he  mock"d  himself,  and  scorn'd  liis  spirit, 
That  could  be  moved  to  smile  at  anything."* 

I  should  not  have  been  s-o  particular  in  the  refutation  of  the 
Eng  ish  philosophers  system  in  re^^ard  to  laughter,  had  I  not 
cons-idered  a  careful  disc  ussion  of  this  question  as  one  of  the 
best  means  of  developing  some  of  the  radical  principles  o<" 
this  inquiry. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

OP   THE    RELATION    WHICH    ELOQUENCE    BEARS    TO    LOGIC    AND    TO 
GRA.MMAR. 

In  contemplating  a  human  creaiure,  the  most  natural  di- 
vision  of  the  subject  is  the  common  division  into  soul  and 
body,  or  into  the  living  principle  ol  perception  and  of  action, 
and  that  system  of  material  organs  by  which  the  otli^er  re- 
ceives information  from  without,  and  is  enabled  to  exert  its 
powers,  both  for  its  own  benefit  and  for  that  of  the  species. 
Analogous  to  this  there  are  two  things  in  every  discourse 
which  principally  claim  •)ur  attention,  tlie  sense  and  the  ex- 
pression ;  or,  in  other  words,  the  thought,  and  the  symbol  by 
which  it  is  communicate  I.  These  may  be  said  to  constitute 
the  soul  and  the  body  of  an  oration,  or,  indeed,  of  whatever 
is  signified  to  another  by  language.  For  as,  in  man,  each  of 
these  constituent  parts  h  ilh  its  distinctive  attributes,  and  as 
thu  perfection  of  the  latter  consistcth  in  its  fitness  for  serving 
th(!  purposes  of  the  former,  so  it  is  precisely  with  those  two 
essential  parts  of  every  speech,  the  sense  and  the  expression 
Ni)W  it  is  by  the  sense  that  rhetcric  holds  of  logic,  and  by 
the  expression  that  she  holds  of  grammar. 

The  sole  and  ultimate  endof  loi.:ic  is  the  eviction  of  truth  ; 
ore  important  end  of  eloquence,  though,  as  appears  from  the 
first  chapter,  neither  the  sole,  nor  always  the  ultimate,  is  the 

*  Sbakspeare's  Julius  Cssar. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  55 

jonviction  of  the  hearers.  Pure  logic  regards  only  tlie  sub- 
ject, which  is  oxainiiK.'d  solely  for  the  sake  of  iufoniialion. 
'J'rutii,  as  such,  is  the  proper  aim  of  tlie  examiner.  Eioqiu^iice 
not  only  considers  the  subject,  but  also  the  speaker  and  the 
hearers,  and  botli  the  subject  and  the  speaker  for  the  sake  of 
the  hearers,  or,  rather,  for  the  sake  of  the  effect  intended  to 
be  produced  in  them.  Now  to  convince  the  hearers  is  always 
either  proposed  by  the  orator  as  his  end  in  addressing  them, 
or  supposed  to  accompany  the  accomplishment  of  his  end. 
Of  the  five  sorts  of  discourses  above  mentioned,  there  are 
only  two  wherein  conviction  is  the  avowed  purpose.  Oik3  is 
that  addressed  to  the  understanding,  in  which  the  speaker 
proposeth  to  prove  some  position  disbelieved  or  doubted  by 
the  hearers  ;  the  other  is  that  which  is  calculated  to  influence 
the  will,  and  persuade  to  a  certain  conduct ;  for  it  is  by  con- 
vincing the  judgment  that  he  proposeth  to  interest  the  pas- 
sions and  fix  the  resolution.  As  to  the  three  other  kinds  of 
discourses  enumerated,  which  address  the  understanding,  the 
imagination,  and  the  passions,  conviction,  though  not  the  end, 
ought  ever  to  accompany  tiie  accomplishment  of  the  end.  It 
is  never  formally  proposed  as  an  end  where  there  are  not 
supposed  to  be  previous  doubts  or  errors  to  conquer.  But 
when  due  attention  is  not  paid  to  it  by  a  proper  management 
of  the  subject,  doubts,  disbelief,  and  mistake  will  be  raised 
by  the  discourse  itself,  where  there  were  none  before,  and 
these  will  not  fail  to  obstruct  the  speaker's  end,  whatever  it 
be.  In  explanatory  discourses,  which  are  of  ail  kinds  the 
.simplest,  there  is  a  certain  precision  of  manner  which  ought 
to  pervade  the  whole,  and  which,  tliough  not  in  the  form  of 
argument,  is  not  the  less  satisfactory,  since  it  carries  iniernal 
evidence  along  with  it.  In  harangues  pathetic  or  panegyrical, 
in  order  that  the  hearers  may  be  moved  or  pleased,  it  is  of 
great  consequence  to  impress  them  with  ti)e  belief  of  the 
reality  of  the  subject.  Nay,  even  in  those  performances 
■where  truth,  in  regard  to  the  individual  facts  related,  is  nei- 
ther sought  nor  expected,  as  in  some  sorts  of  poetry  and  in 
romance,  truth  still  is  an  object  to  the  mitul,  the  general 
truths  regarding  character,  manners,  and  incidents.  When 
these  are  preserved,  the  piece  may  justly  be  denominated 
true,  considered  as  a  picture  of  life,  though  false,  considered 
as  a  narrative  of  particular  events.  And  even  these  untrue 
events  must  be  counterfeits  of  truth,  and  bear  its  image  ;  for 
in  cases  wherein  the  proposed  end  can  \)e  rendered  consistent 
with  unbelief,  it  camiot  be  rendered  compatil)le  with  incredi- 
bility. Thus,  in  order  to  satisfy  the  mind,  ni  most  cases,  truth, 
and,  in  every  case,  what  bears  tiie  semblance  of  truth,  must 
be  presented  to  it.  This  holds  eqn.illy  whatever  be  the  de- 
clared aim  of  the  speaker.  I  need  scarcely  add,  tliut  to  prove 
H  particular  point  is  often  occasionally  necessary  in  every 


56  THE    PIIILOSOI'HY    OF    RHETORIC. 

sort  of  discourse,  as  a  subordinate  end  conducive  to  the  ad- 
vancement of  the  principal.  If,  then,  it  is  the  business  of 
logic  to  evince  the  truth,  to  convince  an  auditory,  which  is 
the  province  of  eloquence,  is  but  a  particular  application  of 
the  logician's  art.  As  logic,  therefore,  forges  the  arms  vvliich 
eloquence  teacheth  us  to  wield,  we  must  first  have  recourse 
to  the  former,  that,  being  made  acquainted  with  the  materials 
of  which  her  weapons  and  armour  are  severally  made,  we 
may  know  their  respective  strength  and  temper,  and  when 
and  how  each  is  to  be  used. 

Now,  if  it  be  by  the  sense  or  soul  of  the  discourse  that 
rhetoric  holds  of  logic,  or  the  art  of  thinking  and  reasoning, 
it  is  by  the  expression  or  body  of  the  discourse  that  she  holds 
of  grammar,  or  the  art  of  conveying  our  thoughts  in  the  words 
of  a  particular  language.  The  observation  of  one  analogy 
naturally  suggests  another.  As  the  soul  is  of  heavenly  ex- 
traction and  the  body  of  earthly,  so  the  sense  of  the  discourse 
ought  to  have  its  source  in  the  invariable  nature  of  truth  and 
right;  whereas  the  expression  can  derive  its  energy  only  from 
the  arbitrary  conventions  of  men,  sources  as  unlike,  or,  ratiier, 
as  widely  different,  as  the  breath  of  the  Almighty  and  the  dust 
of  the  earth.  In  every  region  of  the  globe  we  may  soon  dis- 
cover that  people  feel  and  argue  in  much  the  same  manner, 
but  the  speech  of  one  nation  is  quite  unintelligible  to  another. 
The  art  of  tlie  logician  is,  accordingly,  in  some  sense,  uni- 
versal ;  the  art  of  the  jijaramarian  is  always  particular  and 
local.  The  rules  of  argumentation  laid  down  by  Aristotle, 
in  his  Analytics,  are  of  as  much  use  for  the  discovery  of  truth 
in  Britain  or  in  China  as  they  were  in  Greece  ;  but  Prisciau's 
rules  of  inflection  and  construction  aan  assist  us  in  learning 
no  language  but  Latin.  In  propriety,  there  could  not  be  such 
a  thing  as  a  universal  grammar,  unless  there  were  such  a 
thing  as  a  universal  language.  The  term  hath  sometimes, 
indeed,  been  applied  to  a  collection  of  observations  on  the 
similar  analogies  that  have  been  discovered  in  all  tongues, 
ancient  and  modern,  known  to  the  authors  of  such  collec- 
tions. I  do  not  mention  this  liberty  in  the  use  of  the  term 
with  a  view  to  censure  it.  In  the  application  of  technical  or 
learned  words,  an  author  hath  greater  scope  than  in  the  appli- 
cation of  those  which  are  in  more  frequent  use,  and  is  only 
then  thought  censurable,  when  he  exposelh  himself  to  be 
misunderstood.  But  it  is  to  my  purpose  to  observe,  that  as 
such  collections  convey  the  knowledge  of  no  tongue  what- 
ever, the  name  grammar,  when  applied  to  them,  is  used  in  a 
sense  quite  different  from  tliat  which  it  has  in  the  common 
acceptation  ;  perhaps  as  diffei'ent,  though  the  subject  be  lan- 
guage, as  when  it  is  applied  to  a  system  of  geography. 

Now  the  grammatical  art  hath  its  complexion  in  syntax; 
the  oratorical,  as  far  as  the  body  or  expression  is  concerned 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    PvHETORlC.  67 

rn  style.  Syntax  regards  only  t'ne  composition  of  many 
words  into  one  sentence ;  style,  at  the  same  time  that  it  at- 
tends to  this,  regards,  farther,  the  composition  of  many  sen- 
tences into  one  discourse.  Nor  is  this  the  only  difference: 
the  grammarian,  with  respect  to  what  the  two  arts  have  in 
common,  the  structure  of  sentences,  requires  only  purity ;  that 
is,  that  the  words  employed  belong  to  the  language,  and  that 
they  be  construed  in  the  manner,  and  used  in  the  signification, 
which  custom  hath  rendered  necessary  for  conveying  the 
sense.  The  orator  requires  also  beauty  and  strength.  The 
liighest  aim  of  the  former  is  the  lowest  aim  of  the  latter; 
where  grammar  ends,  eloquence  begins. 

Thus,  the  grammarian's  department  bears  much  the  same 
relation  to  the  orators  which  the  art  of  the  mason  bears  to 
that  of  the  architect.  There  is,  however,  one  difference,  that 
well  deserves  our  notice.  As  in  architecture  it  is  not  neces- 
sary that  he  who  designs  should  execute  his  own  plans,  he 
may  be  an  excellent  artist  in  this  way  who  would  handle 
very  awkwardly  the  hammer  and  the  trowel.  But  it  is  alike 
incumbent  on  the  orator  to  design  and  to  execute.  He  must, 
therefore,  be  master  of  the  language  lie  speaks  or  writes,  and 
must  be  capable  of  adding  to  grammatic  purity  those  higher 
qualities  of  elocution,  which  will  render  his  discourse  graceful 
and  energetic. 

So  much  for  the  connexion  that  subsists  between  rhetoric 
and  these  parent  arts,  logic  and  grammar. 


CHAPTER  V. 

OF   THE   DIFFERENT   SOURCES   OF    EVIDENCE,   AND    THE    DIFFERENT 
SUBJECTS    TO   WHICH    THEY    ARE    RESPECTIVELY    ADAPTED. 

Logical  tnith  consisteth  in  the  conformity  of  our  concep- 
tions to  their  archetypes  in  the  nature  of  things.  This  con- 
formity is  perceived  by  the  mind,  either  immediately  on  a 
bare  attention  to  the  ideas  under  review,  or  mediately  by  a 
comparison  of  these  with  other  related  ideas.  Evidence  of 
the  former  kind  is  called  intuitive  ;  of  the  latter,  deductive 

SECTION  I. 

OF    INTUITIVE    EVIDENCE. 

Part  T.     Mathematical  Axioms 

Of  intuitive  evidence  there  are  different  sorts.  One  is  that 
which  results  purely  from  intellecUon*     Of  this  kind  is  the 

*  I  have  here  adopted  the  term  intellection,  rather  than  perception,  becausA 


68  THE    PHILOPOPHV    OF    RHETORIC. 

evidence  of  these  propositions:  "One  and  four  make  five 
Things  equal  to  the  same  thing  are  equal  to  one  another. 
The  whole  is  greater  than  a  part ;"  and,  in  brief,  all  axioms 
in  arithmetic  and  geom(  try.  T'lese  are,  in  eftect,  but  so 
many  different  expositions  of  our  own  general  notions,  taken 
in  different  views.  Sonu^  of  them  are  no  other  than  defini- 
tions, or  equivalent  to  definitions.  To  say  "One  and  four 
make  /?f'c,"  is  precisely  the  samo  as  to  say,  "We  give  the 
name^(;e  to  one  added  to  four."  In  fact,  they  are  all,  in  some 
respect,  reducible  to  this  axiom,  "  Whatever  is,  is."  I  do  not 
say  they  are  deduced  from  it,  foi  they  have  in  like  manner 
that  original  and  intrinsic  eviderce,  which  makes  them,  as 
soon  a.s  the  terms  are  und.'rstood,  to  be  perceived  intuitively. 
And  if  they  are  not  thus  perceived,  no  deduction  of  reason 
will  ever  confer  on  them  any  adi  itional  evidence.  Nay.  in 
point  of  time,  the  discoveiy  of  the  less  general  truths  has  the 
priority,  not  from  their  superioi  evidence,  but  solely  from 
this  consideration,  that  the  less  general  are  sooner  objects 
of  perception  to  us,  the  natural  jirogress  of  the  mind  in  the 
acquisition  of  its  ideas  being  from  particular  things  to  uni- 
versal notions,  and  not  inversely.  But  I  affirm  that,  though 
not  deduced  from  that  axiom,  they  may  be  considered  as 
particular  exemplifications  of  it,  and  coincident  with  it,  inas- 
much as  they  are  all  impl  ed  in  this,  that  the  properties  of  our 
clear  and  adequate  ideas  can  be  no  other  than  what  the  mind 
clearly  perceives  them  to  be. 

But,  in  order  to  prevent  mistakes,  it  will  be  necessary  far- 
ther to  illustrate  this  sulject.  It  might  be  thought,  that  if 
axioms  were  propositions  perfectly  identical,  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  advance  a  ste|>,  by  their  means,  beyond  the  simple 
ideas  first  perceived  by  tlie  mind  And  it  must  be  owned,  if 
the  predicate  of  the  proposition  were  nothing  but  a  repetition 
of  the  subject,  under  the  same  aspect,  and  in  the  same  or 
synonymous  terms,  no  c(»nceival'le  advantage  could  be  made 
of  it  for  the  furtherance  of  knowledge.  Of  such  propositions 
as  these,  for  instance,  "  Seven  aie  seven,"  "  eight  are  eight," 
and  "ten  added  to  eleven  are  equal  to  ten  added  to  eleven," 
it  is  manifest  that  we  could  never  avail  ourselves  for  the  im- 
provement of  science.  Nor  does  the  change  of  the  name 
make  any  alteration  in  i>oint  ol  utility.     The  propositions, 

though  not  so  usual,  it  is  both  more  apposite  and  less  equivocal.  Perception 
is  employed  alike  to  denote  evrry  iinmeliaie  object  of  thought,  or  whatever 
is  apprehended  by  the  mind.oiir  sensations  themselves,  and  those  qualities 
in  body,  suggested  by  our  sensations,  the  ideas  of  these  upon  reflection, 
whether  remembered  or  iraagi'ied,  togeiher  with  those  called  general  no- 
tions, or  abstract  ideas.  It  is  only  the  last  of  these  kinds  which  are  con- 
sidered as  peculiarly  the  ohjeci  of  the  niiderstanding,  and  winch,  therefoie, 
require  to  be  distinguished  by  a  peculiai  tiame.  Obscurity  arising  from  an 
uncuinmon  word  is  easily  surmounted,  whereas  ambiguity,  by  misleading 
us,  ere  we  are  aware,  confounds  our  notion  of  the  sub>ect  altogether. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  DJf 

**  Twelve  are  ;i  dozen,"  "  twenty  ;irc  a  score,"  unless  con- 
sidered as  explications  of  tlie  words  dozen  and  scnrc.  ;ire 
equally  iiisi^fnificant  witli  tlie  former.  But  when  tlie  ihinir, 
tliougii  in  effect  coinciding,  is  considered  under  a  different  as- 
pect: when  what  is  single  in  the  subject  is  divided  in  the 
predicate,  and  conversely;  or  when  what  is  a  whole  in  the 
one,  is  regarded  as  a  part  of  something  else  in  the  other; 
such  propositions  lead  to  the  discovery  of  imiumerable,  and 
apparently  remote  relations.  One  added  to  four  may  be  ac- 
counted no  other  than  a  definition  of  the  word./?(e.  as  was  re- 
marked above.  But  when  I  say,  "Two  added  to  three  are 
equal  to  five,"  I  advance  a  truth,  which,  thougli  equally  ck^ar, 
is  quite  distinct  from  the  preceding.  Thus,  if  one  should  af- 
firm. "  twice  fifteen  make  thirty,"  and  again,  •'  thirteen  added 
to  seventeen  make  thirty,"  nobody  would  pretend  that  he 
had  repeated  the  same  proposition  in  other  words.  The 
cases  are  entirely  similar.  In  both,  the  same  thing  is  predi 
cated  of  ideas  which,  taken  severally,  are  different.  From 
these,  again,  result  other  equations,  as,  '"One  added  to  four 
are  equal  to  two  added  to  three,"  and  "  twice  fifteen  are  eqaal 
to  thirteen  added  to  seventeen." 

Now  it  is  by  the  aid  of  such  simple  and  elementary  prin- 
ciples that  the  arithmetician  and  the  algel)raist  proceed  in 
the  most  astonishing  discoveries.  Nor  are  the  operations  of 
the  geometrician  essentially  different.  By  a  very  few  steps 
you  are  made  to  perceive  the  equality,  or,  rather,  the  coinci- 
dence of  the  sum  of  the  two  angles,  formed  by  one  straight 
line  falling  on  another,  with  two  right  an';rles.  By  a  process 
equally  plain,  you  are  brougiit  to  discover,  first,  that  if  one 
side  of  a  triangle  be  produced,  the  (ixternal  angle  will  be 
equal  to  both  the  internal  and  opposite  angles  ;  anil  tlien.  ttiat 
all  the  angles  of  a  triangle  are  equal  to  two  right  angles.  So 
much  for  the  nature  and  use  of  the  first  kind  of  intuitive  evi- 
dence, resulting  from  pure  intellection. 

P.\RT  II.   Consciousness. 

The  next  kind  is  that  which  ariseth  from  consrionsncss 
Hence  every  man  derives  the  perfect  assurance  that  he  hath 
of  his  own  existence.  Nor  is  he  only  in  tiiis  way  assured 
that  he  exists,  but  that  he  thinks,  that  he  feels,  that  he  sees, 
that  he  hears,  and  the  like.  Hence  his  absolute  certainty 
in  regard  to  the  reality  of  his  sensations  and  passions,  and  of 
everything  whose  essence  consists  in  being  perceived.  Nor 
Joes  this  kind  of  intuition  regard  only  the  truth  of  the  origi- 
nal feelings  or  impressions,  but  also  many  of  the  judgments 
that  are  formed  by  the  mind,  on  comparing  these  one  with 
another.  Thus,  the  judgments  we  daily  and  hourly  form 
concerning  resemblances  or  disparities  in  visible  obje»ts.  or 
Bize  in  things  tangible,  where  the  odds  is  considerable,  darker 


60  'rriii  PHILOSOPHY  oi    nfirrontr 

or  lighter  finis  in  colours,  stronger  or  weaker  tastes  or  smells, 
are  all  self-evident,  and  discoverable  at  once.  Tt  is  from  the 
same  principle  that,  in  regard  to  ourselves,  we  judge  infallii)ly 
concerning  the  feelings,  whether  pleasant  or  painful  wiiich 
we  derive  from  what  are  called  the  internal  senses,  and  pro- 
nounce concerning  beauty  or  deformity,  harmony  or  discord, 
the  elegant  or  the  ridiculous.  The  difference  between  this 
kind  of  intuition  and  the  former  will  appear  on  the  slightest 
reflection.  The  former  concerns  only  abstract  notions  or 
ideas,  particularly  in  regard  to  number  and  extension,  the  ob- 
jects purely  of  the  understanding  ;  the  latter  concerns  only 
the  existence  of  the  mind  itself,  and  its  actual  feelings,  im- 
pressions, or  affections,  pleasures  or  pains,  the  immediate 
subjects  of  sense,  taking  that  word  in  the  largest  acceptation. 
The  former  gives  rise  to  those  universal  truths,  first  princi- 
ples, or  axioms,  which  serve  as  the  foundation  of  abstract 
science ;  whereas  the  latter,  though  absolutely  essential  to 
the  individual,  yet,  as  it  only  regards  particular  perceptions, 
which  represent  no  distinct  genus  or  species  of  objects,  the 
judgments  resulting  thence  cannot  form  any  general  positions 
to  which  a  chain  of  reasoning  may  be  fastened,  and,  conse- 
quently, are  not  of  the  nature  of  axioms,  though  both  similar 
and  equal  in  respect  of  evidence. 

Part  III.  Common  Sense. 

The  third  sort  is  that  which  ariseth  from  what  hath  been 
termed,  properly  enough,  common  sense*  as  being  an  original 

*  The  tirst  among  the  moderns  who  took  notice  of  this  principle,  as  one 
of  the  genuine  springs  of  our  knowledge,  was  Buffier,  a  French  philosopher 
of  the  present  century,  in  a  book  entitled  Tmiie  des  Premieres  Viritez  ;  one 
who,  to  an  uncommon  degree  of  acuteness  in  matters  of  abstraction,  added 
that  solidity  of  judgment  which  hath  prevented  in  him,  what  had  proved 
the  wreck  of  many  great  names  in  philosophy,  his  understanding  becoming 
the  dupe  of  his  ingenuity.  This  doctrine  hath  lately,  in  our  own  country, 
been  set  in  the  clearest  light,  and  supported  by  invincible  force  of  argument, 
by  two  very  able  writers  in  the  science  of  man.  Dr.  Reid,  in  his  Inxiuiry 
into  the  Human  Mind,  and  Dr.  Beattie,  in  his  Essay  on  the  Immutability  of 
Truth.  I  beg  leave  to  remark  in  this  place,  that  though,  for  distinction's 
sake,  I  use  the  term  common  sense  in  a  more  limited  signification  than  either 
of  the  authors  last  mentioned,  there  appears  to  be  no  real  difference  in  our 
sentiments  of  the  thing  itself.  1  am  not  ignorant  that  this  doctrine  has  been 
lately  attacked  by  Dr.  Priestley  in  a  most  e.xtraordinary  manner,  a  manr.-er 
which  nc  man  who  has  any  regard  to  the  name  of  Englishman  or  of  phi- 
losopher will  ever  desire  to  see  imitated  in  this  or  any  other  country.  [ 
have  read  the  performance,  but  have  not  been  able  to  discover  the  author's 
sentiments  in  relation  to  the  principal  point  in  dispute.  He  says,  expressly, 
(Fl.xamination  of  Dr.  Reid's  Inquiry,  «Scc.,  p.  119],  "Had  these  writers," 
Messieurs  Reid,  Beattie,  and  Oswald,  "  assumed,  as  the  elements  of  their 
common  sense,  certain  truths  which  are  so  plain  that  no  man  could  doubt 
of  them  (without  entering  into  the  ground  of  our  assent  to  them),  their 
conduct  would  have  been  liable  to  very  little  objection."  And  is  not  this 
ihe  veTy  thing  which  these  writers  have  done?  What  he  means  to  signify 
l>v  the  parenthesis  ("  without  efifering  into  the  ground  of  our  assent  tc 


Tfli:    FUlLfC-OVHV    or    nUEXORIC.  61 

source  of  knowledge  common  lO  all  mankind.  I  own,  indeed, 
that  in  different  persons  it  prevails  in  different  degrees  of 

them")  it  is  not  easy  to  gucs?.  By  a  ground  of  assent  to  any  proposition 
is  commonly  undersioocJ  a  reason  or  argument  in  support  of  it.  Now,  by 
his  own  hypothesis,  there  are  truths  so  plain,  that  no  man  can  doubt  of 
them.  If  so,  what  ground  of  assent  beyond  their  own  plainness  ought  we 
to  seek  ?  what  besides  this  can  we  ever  hope  to  find,  or  what  better  reason 
need  be  given  for  denominating  such  truths  the  dictates  of  common  sense? 
If  something  plainer  could  be  found  to  serve  as  evidence  of  any  of  them, 
then  this  plainer  truth  would  be  admitted  as  the  first  principle,  and  ihe  other 
would  be  considered  as  deduced  by  reasoning.  But  notwithstanding  rtie 
mistake  in  the  instance,  the  general  doctrine  of  primary  truths  would  re- 
main unhurt.  It  seems,  however,  that  though  their  conduct  would  have 
been  liable  to  very  little,  it  would  have  been  liable  to  some  objection.  "  All 
that  could  have  been  said  would  have  been,  that,  without  any  necessity, 
they  had  made  an  innovation  in  the  received  use  of  a  term  "  1  have  a  bet- 
ter opinion  of  these  gentlemen  than  to  imagine,  that  if  the  thing  which  they 
contend  for  be  admitted,  they  will  enter  into  a  dispute  with  any  person 
about  the  name  ;  though  in  my  judgment,  even  as  to  this,  it  is  not  they,  but 
he,  who  is  the  innovator.  He  proceeds,  "  For  no  person  ever  denied  that 
there  are  self-evident  truths,  and  that  theSe  must  be  assumed,  as  the  found- 
ation of  all  our  reasoning.  1  never  met  with  any  person  who  did  not  ac- 
knowledge this,  or  heard  of  any  argumentative  treatise  that  did  not  go  upon 
the  supposition  of  it."  Now  if  this  be  the  case,  I  would  gladly  know  what 
is  the  great  point  he  controverts.  It  is,  whether  such  self-evident  truths 
shall  be  denominated  principles  of  common  sense,  or  be  distinguished  by 
some  other  appellation.  Was  it  worthy  any  man's  while  to  write  an  octavo 
of  near  400  pages  for  the  discussion  of  such  a  question  as  this?  And  if, 
as  he  assures  us,  they  have  said  more  than  is  necessary  in  proof  of  a  truth 
which  be  himself  thinks  indisputable,  was  it  no  more  than  necessary  in  Dr. 
Priestley  to  compose  so  large  a  volume,  in  order  to  convince  the  world  that 
too  much  had  been  said  already  on  the  subject?*  I  do  not  enter  into  the 
examination  of  his  objections  to  some  of  the  particular  principles  adduced 
as  primary  truths.  An  attempt  of  this  kind  would  be  foreign  to  my  purpose  : 
besides  that  the  authors  he  has  attacked  are  better  qualified  for  defending 
their  own  doctrine,  and,  no  doubt,  will  do  it,  if  they  think  there  is  occasion, 
I  shall  only  subjoin  two  remarks  on  this  book.  The  first  is,  that  the  author, 
through  the  whole,  confounds  two  things  totally  distinct — certain  associa- 
tions of  ideas,  and  certain  judgments  implying  belief,  which,  though  in 
some,  are  not  in  all  cases,  and,  therefore,  not  necessarily  connected  with 
association.  And  if  so,  merely  to  account  for  the  association,  is  in  no  case 
to  account  for  the  belief  with  which  it  is  attended.  Nay,  admitting  his  plea, 
[page  86],  that,  by  the  principle  of  association,  not  only  the  ideas,  but  the 
concomitant  belief  may  be  accounted  for,  even  this  does  not  invalidate  the 
doctrine  he  impugns.  For,  let  it  be  observed,  that  it  is  one  thing  to  assign 
a  cause  which,  from  the  mechanism  of  our  nature,  has  given  rise  to  a  par- 
ticular tenet  or  belief,  and  another  thing  to  produce  a  reason  by  which  the 
understanding  has  been  convinced.  Now,  unless  this  be  done  as  to  the 
principles  in  question,  they  must  be  considered  as  primary  truths  in  respect 
of  the  understanding,  which  never  deduced  them  from  other  truths,  and 
which  is  under  a  necessity,  in  all  her  moral  reasonings,  of  founding  upon 
them.  In  fact,  to  give  any  other  account  of  our  conviction  of  them,  is  to 
confirm,  instead  of  confuting  the  doctrine,  that  in  all  argumentation  they 
must  be  regarded  as  primary  truths,  or  truths  which  reason  never  inferred, 
through  any  medium,  from  other  truths  previously  perceived.  My  second 
remark  is,  that  though  this  examiner  has,  from  Dr.  Reid,  given  us  a  cata- 
logue of  first  principles,  which  he  deems  unworthy  of  the  honourable  place 
assigned  them,  he  has  nowhere  thought  proper  to  give  us  a  list  cf  those 
•elf-evident  truths  which,  by  his  own  account,  and  in  his  own  express  word* 


l82  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

Strength:  but  no  human  cre;iture  liath  been  found  originally 
:)nd  l(»lally  destitute  of  it,  who  is  not  accounted  a  monster  in 
liis  kind  :  for  such,  doubtless,  are  all  idiots  and  changelings. 
By  madness,  a  disease  which  makes  terrible  havoc  on  the 
faculties  of  the  mind,  it  may  be  in  a  great  measure,  but  is 
never  entirely  lost. 

It  is  purely  hence  that  we  derive  our  assurance  of  such 
truths  as  these  :  "  Whatever  has  a  beginning  has  a  cause." 
'•  When  there  is,  in  the  effect,  a  manifest  adjustment  of  the 
several  parts  to  a  certain  end,  there  is  intelligence  in  the 
cause."  "  The  course  of  nature  will  be  the  same  to-morrow 
that  it  is  to-day;  or,  the  future  will  resemble  the  past." 
"  'I'liere  is  such  a  thing  as  body  ;  or,  there  are  material  sub- 
stances independent  of  the  mind's  conceptions."  "  There  are 
other  intelligent  beings  in  the  universe  besides  nie."  '"The 
clear  representations  of  my  memory,  in  regard  to  past  events, 
are  indubitably  true."  These,  and  a  great  many  more  of  the 
same  kind,  it  is  impossible  for  any  man  by  reasoning  to  evince, 
as  might  easily  be  shown,  were  this  a  proper  place  for  the  dis- 
cussion. And  it  is  equally  impossible,  without  a  full  convic- 
tion of  them,  to  advance  a  single  step  in  the  acquisition  of 
knowledge,  especially  in  all  that  regards  mankind,  life,  and 
conduct. 

I  am  sensible  that  some  of  these,  to  men  not  accustomed 
to  inquiries  of  this  kind,  will  appear,  at  first,  not  to  be  primary 
principles,  hut  conclusions  from  other  principles;  and  some 
of  tliem  will  be  thoMght  to  coincide  with  the  other  kinds  of 
intuition  above  mentioned.  Thus  the  first,  "Whatever  liaih 
a  beginning  hath  a  cause,"  may  be  thougnt  to  stand  on  the 
same  footing  with  mathematical  axioms.  I  acknowledge  that, 
ill  point  of  evidence,  they  are  equal,  and  it  is  alike  impossible, 
in  either  case,  for  a  rational  creature  to  withhold  his  assent. 
Nevertheless,  there  is  a  difference  in  kind.  All  the  axioms 
in  mathematics  are  but  the  enunciations  of  certain  properties 
in  our  abstract  notions,  distinctly  perceived  by  the  mind,  but 
have  no  relation  to  anything  without  themselves,  and  can 
never  be  made  the  foundation  of  uny  conclusion  concerning 
actual  existence  ;  whereas,  in  the  axiom  last  specified,  from 
the  existence  of  one  thing  we  intuitively  conclude  the  exist- 

"  musi  be  assmned  as  the  foundation  of  all  our  reasoning."  How  much 
light  might  have  been  thrown  upon  the  subject  by  the  contrast?  Perhaps 
we  should  have  been  enabled,  on  the  comparison,  to  discover  some  distinct- 
ive characters  in  his  gonuine  axioms,  which  would  have  preserved  us  from 
the  danger  of  confounding  them  wiih  their  spurious  ones.  Nothing  is  more 
evident  than  that,  in  whatever  regards  matter  of  fact,  the  mathematical  ax- 
ioms will  not  answer.  These  are  purely  littevl  for  evolving  the  abstract  re- 
lations of  quantity.  This  he  in  effect  owns  himself  [page  39].  It  would 
have  been  obliging,  then,  and  would  have  greatly  contributed  to  shorten 
the  controversy,  if  he  had  given  us,  al  least,  a  specimen  of  those  self  evi- 
dent principles,  which,,  in  his  estimation,  are  the  non  plus  ultra  oi  moral 
reasoning. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OP    RHETORIC.  03 

ence  of  another.  This  proposilion,  however,  so  far  difTcrs 
ill  my  apprehension,  from  others  of  tl)e  same  older,  th;it  1 
cannot  avoid  considering  the  opposite  assertion  as  not  only 
false,  but  contradictory  ;  but  I  do  not  pretend  lo  explain  tlie 
ground  of  this  difference. 

The  faith  we  give  to  memory  may  be  thought,  on  a  super- 
ficial view,  to  be  resolvable  into  consciousness,  as  well  as 
that  we  give  to  the  immediate  impressions  of  sense.  But  on 
a  little  attention  one  may  easily  perceive  the  difference.  'I'o 
believe  the  report  of  our  s-enses  doth,  indeed,  commonly  im- 
ply, to  believe  the  existence  of  certain  external  and  corporeal 
objects,  which  give  rise  to  our  particular  sensations.  This, 
1  acknowledge,  is  a  principle  which  doth  not  spring  from  c(»n- 
sciousness  (for  consciousness  cannot  extend  beyond  sensa- 
tion), but  from  common  sense,  as  well  as  the  assurance  we 
have  in  the  report  of  memory.  But  this  was  not  intended  to 
be  included  under  the  second  branch  of  intuitive  evidence. 
By  that  firm  belief  in  sense,  which  I  there  resolved  into  con- 
sciousness, 1  meant  no  more  than  to  say,  I  am  certain  that  1 
see,  and  feel,  and  think,  what  I  actually  see,  and  f(^e!,  and 
think.  As  in  this  I  pronounce  only  concerning  my  own  pn.s- 
ent  feelings,  whose  essence  consists  in  being  fell,  and  (i( 
which  I  am  at  present  conscious,  my  conviction  is  reducible 
to  this  axiom,  or  coincident  with  it,  "It  is  impossible  for  a 
thing  to  be  and  not  to  be  at  the  same  time."  Now  when  1 
say,  1  trust  entirely  to  the  clear  report  of  my  memory,  I  mean 
a  good  deal  more  than,  "  1  am  certain  that  my  memory  gives 
such  a  report,  or  represents  things  in  such  a  manner,"  for 
this  conviction  I  have,  indeed,  from  consciousness,  but  I 
mean,  "I  am  certain  that  things  happened  heretofore  at  such 
a  time,  in  the  precise  manner  in  which  I  now  remember  that 
they  then  happened."  Thus  there  is  a  reference  in  the  ideas 
of  memory  to  former  sensible  impressions,  to  which  there  is 
nothing  analogous  in  sensation.  At  the  same  time,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  remembrance  is  not  always  accompanied  with  this 
full  conviction.  To  describe,  in  words,  the  difference  between 
those  lively  signatures  of  memory  which  command  an  unlim- 
ited assent,  and  those  fainter  traces  which  raise  opinion  only, 
or  even  doubt,  is  perhaps  impracticable ;  but  no  man  stands 
in  need  of  such  assistance  to  enable  him,  in  fact,  to  distinguish 
them  for  the  direction  of  his  own  judgment  end  conduct. 
Some  may  imagine  that  it  is  from  experience  we  come  to 
know  what  faith  in  every  case  is  due  to  memory.  But  it 
will  appear  more  fully  afterward  that,  unless  we  had  impli- 
citly relied  on  the  distinct  and  vivid  informations  of  that  fac- 
ulty, we  could  not  have  moved  a  step  towards  the  acquisiticm 
of  experience.  It  must,  however,  be  admitted,  that  e.\pe- 
lience  is  of  use  in  assisting  us  to  judge  concerning  the  more 
languid  and  confused  suggestions  of  memory  ;  or,  to  soeak 


64  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

more  properly,  concerning  the  reality  of  those  things  of  which 
we  ourselves  are  doubtful  whether  we  remember  them  or  not. 

In  regard  to  the  primary  truths  of  this  order  it  may  be 
urged,  that  it  cannot  be  affirmed  of  them  all,  at  least,  as  it 
may  of  the  axioms  in  mathematics,  or  the  assurances  we  have 
from  consciousness  that  the  denial  of  them  implies  a  mani- 
fest contradiction.  It  is,  perhaps,  physically  possible  that 
the  course  of  nature  will  be  inverted  the  very  next  moment; 
that  my  memory  is  no  better  than  a  delirium,  and  my  life  a 
dream  ;  that  all  is  mere  allusion ;  that  I  am  the  only  being 
in  the  universe,  and  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  body.  No- 
thing can  be  juster  than  the  reply  given  by  Buffier  :  "  It  must 
be  owned,"  says  he,*  "  that  to  maintain  propositions  the  re- 
verse of  the  primary  truths  of  common  sense,  doth  not  imply 
a  contradiction,  it  only  implies  insanity."  But  if  any  person, 
on  account  of  this  difference  in  the  nature  of  these  two  classes 
of  axioms,  should  not  think  the  term  intuitive  so  properly  ap- 
plied to  the  evidence  of  the  last  mentioned,  let  him  denomi- 
nate it,  if  he  please,  instinctive :  I  have  no  objection  to  the 
term  ;  nor  do  I  think  it  derogates  in  the  least  from  the  digni. 
ty,  the  certainty,  or  the  importance  of  the  truths  themselves. 
Such  instincts  are  no  other  than  the  oracles  of  eternal  wis- 
dom. 

For,  let  it  be  observed  farther,  that  axioms  of  this  last  kind 
are  as  essential  to  moral  reasoning,  to  all  deductions  con- 
cerning life  atid  existence,  as  those  of  the  first  kind  are  to 
the  sciences  of  arithmetic  and  geometry.  Perhaps  it  will 
appear  afterward,  that,  without  the  aid  of  some  of  them,  these 
sciences  themselves  would  be  utterly  inaccessible  to  us.  Be- 
sides, the  matheinatical  axioms  can  never  extend  their  influ- 
ence beyond  the  precincts  of  abstract  knowledge,  in  regard 
to  number  and  extension,  or  assist  us  in  the  discovery  of  any 
matter  of  fact :  whereas,  with  knowledge  of  the  latter  kind, 
the  whole  conduct  and  business  of  human  life  is  principally 
and  intimately  connected.  All  reasoning  necessarily  sup- 
poses that  there  are  certain  principles  in  which  we  must  ac- 
quiesce, and  beyond  which  we  cannot  go ;  principles  clearly 
discernible  by  their  own  light,  which  can  derive  no  additional 
evidence  from  anything  besides.  On  the  contrary  supposi- 
tion, the  investigation  of  truth  would  be  an  endless  and  a 
fruitless  task;  we  should  be  eternally  proving,  while  nothing 
could  ever  be  proved  ;  because,  by  the  hypothesis,  we  could 
never  ascend  to  premises  which  require  no  proof.  "If  there 
be  no  first  truths,"  says  the  author  lotely  quoted,!  "  there  can 
be  no  second  truths,  nor  third,  nor,  indeed,  any  truth  at  all." 

So  much  for  intuitive  evidence,  in  the  extensive  meaning 
which  hath  here  been  given  to  that  term,  as  including  every- 

♦  Premieres  Veritez,  part  i.,  chap.  xi.  t  lb.,  Dessein  de  Kcnivraga. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OP    RHETORIC.  65 

thing  whose  evidence  results  from  the  simple  contemplation 
of  the  ideas  or  perceptions  which  form  the  proposition  vnder 
consideration,  and  requires  not  the  intervention  of  any  third 
idea  as  a  medium  of  proof.  This,  for  order's  sake,  I  have 
distributed  into  three  classes — the  truths  of  pure  intellection, 
of  consciousness,  and  of  common  sense.  The  first  may  be 
denominated  metaphysical,  the  second  physical,  the  third 
moral ;  all  of  them  natural,  original,  and  unaccountable. 

SECTION  II. 

OF    DEDUCTIVE    EVIDENCE. 

Part  I.  Division  of  the  Subject  into  Scientific  and  Moral,  with 
the  principal  Distinctions  between  them. 
All  rational  or  deductive  evidence  is  derived  from  one  or 
other  of  these  two  sources :  from  the  invariable  properties 
or  relations  of  general  ideas  ;  or  from  the  actual,  though  per- 
haps variable  connexions,  subsisting  among  things.  The  for- 
mer we  call  demonstrative  ;  the  latter,  moral.  Demonstra- 
tion is  built  on  pure  intellection,  and  consisteth  in  an  unin- 
terrupted series  of  axioms.  That  propositions  formerly  de- 
monstrated are  taken  into  the  series,  doth  not  in  the  least  in- 
validate this  account;  inasmuch  as  these  propositions  are  all 
resolvable  into  axioms,  and  are  admitted  as  links  in  the  chain, 
not  because  necessary,  but  merely  to  avoid  the  useless  pro- 
lixity which  frequent  and  tedious  repetitions  of  proofs  for 
merly  given  would  occasion.  Moral  evidence  is  lounded  on 
the  principles  we  have  from  consciousness  and  common 
sense  improved  by  experience ;  and  as  it  proceeds  on  this 
general  presumption  or  moral  axiom,  that  the  course  of  na- 
ture in  time  to  come  will  be  similar  to  what  it  hath  been  hith- 
erto, it  decides,  in  regard  to  particulars,  concerning  the  future 
from  the  past,  and  concerning  things  unknown  from  things 
familiar  to  us.  The  first  is  solely  conversant  about  number 
and  extension,  and  about  those  other  qualities  which  are  meas- 
urable by  these.  Such  are  duration,  velocity,  and  weight. 
With  regard  to  such  qualities  as  pleasure  and  pain,  virtue  and 
vico,  wisdom  and  folly,  beauty  and  deformity,  though  they 
admit  degrees,  yet,  as  there  is  no  standard  or  common  meas- 
ure by  which  their  differences  and  proportions  can  be  ascer- 
tained and  expressed  in  numbers,  they  can  never  become  the 
subject  of  demonstrative  reasoning.  Here  rhetoric,  it  must 
be  :icknowledged,  hath  little  to  do.  Simplicity  of  diction 
and  precision  in  arrangement,  whence  results  perspicuity 
are,  as  was  observed  already,*  all  the  requisites.  The  prop 
er  province  of  rhetoric  is  the  second  or  moral  evidence;  foi 
to  thp  second  belong  all  decisions  concerning  fact,  and  thingi 
without  us. 

♦  Chap.  L 
F  2 


66  THE  PHILOSOPHY    OF   HHETORIC. 

But,  that  the  nature  of  moral  evidence  may  be  betternnder- 
stood,  it  will  not  he  amiss  to  remark  a  few  of  liie  most  em- 
inent differences  between  this  and  the  demonstrative. 

The  first  difference  that  occurs  is  in  their  subjects.  The 
subject  of  the  one  is,  as  hath  been  observed,  abstract,  inde- 
pendent truth,  or  the  unchangeable  and  necessary  relations 
of  ideas  ;  that  of  the  otiier,  the  real,  but  often  changeable  and 
coniingent  connexions  that  subsist  among  things  actually  ex- 
isting. Abstract  truths,  as  the  properties  of  quantity,  have 
no  respect  to  time  or  to  place,  no  dependance  on  the  volition 
of  any  being,  or  on  any  cause  whatever,  but  are  eternally  ant 
immutably  the  same.  The  very  reverse  of  all  this  generally 
obtains  with  regard  to  fact.  In  consequence  of  what  has  been 
now  advanced,  assertions  opposite  to  truths  of  the  former 
kind  are  not  only  false,  but  absurd.  They  are  not  only  not 
true,  but  it  is  impossible  they  should  be  true,  while  the  mean- 
ings of  the  words  (and,  consequently,  the  ideas  compared)  re- 
main the  same.  'I'his  doth  not  hold  commonly  in  any  other 
kind  of  evidence.  Take,  for  instance,  of  the  first  kind,  the 
following  affirmations  :  '•  The  cube  of  two  is  the  half  of  six- 
teen." "  The  square  of  the  hypolhenuse  is  equal  to  the  sum 
of  the  squares  of  the  sides."  "  If  equal  things  be  taken  from 
equal  things,  the  remainders  will  be  equal."  Contrary  prop- 
ositions, as,  "The  cube  of  two  is  more  than  the  half  of  six- 
teen ;"  ''The  so''ure  of  the  hypothenuse  is  less  than  the  sum 
of  the  squares  of  the  sides  ;"  "  if  equal  things  be  taken  from 
e(|ual  things,  the  remainders  will  he  unequal,"  are  chargeable, 
n(H  only  with  falsity,  but  with  absurdity,  being  inconceivable 
and  contradictory.  Whereas,  to  these  truths,  which  we  ac- 
quire by  moral  evidence,  "  Cassar  overcame  Pompey  ;"  "The 
su!i  will  rise  to-morrow;"  "All  men  will  die,"  the  opposite 
assertions,  though  untrue,  are  easily  conceivable,  without 
changing  in  the  least  the  import  of  the  words,  and  thereAn'e 
do  not  imply  a  cotitradiction. 

'i'he  second  difference  1  shall  remark  is,  that  moral  evi- 
dence admits  degrees,  demonstration  doth  not.  This  is  a 
plain  consequence  of  the  preceding  difference.  Essential  or 
necessary  truth,  the  sole  object  of  the  latter,  is  incompatible 
with  degree.  And  though  actual  truth,  or  matter  of  fact,  be 
the  ultimate  aim  of  the  former,  likelihood  alone,  which  is  sus- 
ceptible of  degree,  is  usually  the  utmost  attaimiient.  V\  hat- 
ever  is  exhibited  as  demonstration  is  either  mere  illusion,  and 
so  no  evidence  at  all,  or  absolutely  perfect.  Tliere  is  no  me- 
dium. In  moral  reasoning,  we  ascend  from  possibility,  by  an 
insensible  graduation,  to  probability,  and  iheiice.in  the  same 
manner,  to  the  summit  of  moral  ceriainly.  On  this  summit, 
or  on  any  of  the  steps  leading  to  it,  the  coiicinsion  of  the  ar- 
gument may  rest.  Hence  the  result  of  that  is,  by  way  of 
eminence,  denominated  science ;  and  the  evidence  itself  is 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OP    RHETORIC.  87 

termed  scientific  ;  the  result  of  this  is  freqiiemly  (not  always) 
entitled  to  no  higher  denomination  than  opinion.  Now,  in 
the  mathematical  sciences,  no  mention  is  ever  niadeol  opin- 
ions. 

The  third  difference  is,  that  in  the  one  there  never  can  be 
any  contrariety  of  proofs  ;  in  the  other,  there  not  only  ma}', 
but  ahnost  always  is.  If  one  demonstration  were  ever  ca- 
pable of  being  refuted,  it  could  be  solely  by  another  demon- 
stration, this  being  ihe  only  .sort  of  evidence  adapted  to  the 
subject,  and  the  only  sort  by  which  the  former  couM  be 
matched.  But,  to  suppose  thai  contraries  are  demonstrable, 
is  to  suppose  that  the  same  proposition  is  both  true  and  false, 
which  is  a  manifest  contradiction.  Consequently,  if  there 
should  ever  be  the  appearance  of  demonstratit)n  on  opposite 
sides,  that  on  one  side  must  be  fallacious  and  sophistical.  It 
is  not  so  with  moral  evidence,  for,  unlt^ss  in  a  few  singular 
instances,  there  is  always  real,  not  apparent  evidence  {ci  both 
sides.  There  are  contrary  experiences,  contrary  presump 
tions,  contrary  testimonies,  to  balance  against  one  another. 
In  this  case,  the  probability,  upon  the  whole,  is  in  the  profior- 
tion  which  the  evidence  on  the  side  that  preponderates  bears 
to  its  opposite.  We  usually  say,  indeed,  that  the  evidence 
lies  on  such  a  side  of  the  question,  and  not  on  the  reverse ; 
but  by  this  expression  is  only  mean;  the  overplus  of  evidence 
on  comparing  both  sides.  In  like  manner,  wlien  we  affirm 
of  an  event,  that  it  is  probable,  we  say  the  contrary  is  only 
possible,  although,  when  they  are  severally  considered,  we 
do  not  scruple  to  say,  this  is  more  probable  than  that ;  or, 
the  probabilities  on  one  side  outweigh  those  on  the  other. 

The  fourth  and  last  difference  I  shall  observe  is,  that  sci- 
entific evidence  is  simple,  consisting  of  only  one  coherent 
series,  every  part  of  which  depends  on  the  preceding,  and, 
as  it  were,  suspends  the  following  :  moral  evidence  is  gen- 
erally complicated,  being,  in  reality,  a  bundle  of  independent 
proofs.  The  longest  demonstration  is  but  one  uniform  chain, 
the  links  whereof,  taken  severally,  are  not  to  be  regarded  as 
so  many  arguments,  and  consequently,  when  thus  f.tKcn.ihey 
conclude  nothing;  but  taken  together,  and  in  their  proper  or- 
der, they  form  one  argument  which  is  perfectly  conclusive. 
It  is  true,  the  same  theorem  may  be  demonstrable  in  different 
ways,  and  by  different  mediums;  but  as  a  single  demonstra- 
tion clearly  understood  commands  the  fullest  conviction,  ev- 
ery other  is  superfluous.  After  one  demonstrative  proof,  a 
man  may  try  a  second,  purely  as  an  exercise  of  ingenniiy, 
or  the  better  to  assure  himself  that  he  hath  not  committed 
an  oversight  in  the  first.  Thus  it  may  serve  to  warrant  ihe 
regular  procedure  of  his  faculties,  but  not  to  make  an  adili- 
tion  to  the  former  proof,  or  supply  any  deficiency  perceived 
in  it.     So  far  is  it  from  answering  this  end,  that  he  is  no  soon- 


68  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

er  sensible  of  a  defect  in  an  attempt  of  this  nature,  than  the 
whole  is  rejected  as  good  for  nothing,  and  carrying  with  il 
no  degree  of  evidence  whatever.  In  moral  reasoning,  on  the 
contrary,  there  is  often  a  combination  of  many  distinct  top- 
ics of  argument,  no  way  dependant  on  one  another.  Each 
hath  a  certain  portion  of  evidence  belonging  to  itself,  each 
bestows  on  the  conclusion  a  particular  degree  of  likelihood, 
of  all  which  accumulated  the  credibility  of  the  fact  is  com- 
pounded. The  former  may  be  compared  to  an  arch,  no  part 
of  which  can  subsist  independently  of  the  rest.  If  you  make 
any  breach  in  it,  you  destroy  the  whole.  The  latter  may  be 
compared  to  a  tower,  the  height  whereof  is  but  the  aggregate 
of  the  heights  of  the  several  parts  reared  above  one  another, 
and  so  may  be  gradually  diminished,  as  it  was  gradually  raised. 
So  much  for  the  respective  natures  of  scientific  and  of  mor- 
al evidence,  and  those  characteristical  qualities  which  dis- 
criminate them  from  each  other.  On  a  survey  of  the  whole, 
it  seems  indubitable  that,  if  the  former  is  infinitely  superior 
in  point  of  authority,  the  latter  no  less  excels  in  point  of  im- 
portance. Abstract  truth,  as  far  as  it  is  the  object  of  our 
faculties,  is  almost  entirely  confined  to  quantity,  concrete  or 
discrete.  The  sphere  of  Demonstration  is  narrow,  but  with- 
in her  sphere  she  is  a  despotic  sovereign,  her  sway  is  uncon- 
trollable. Her  rival,  on  the  contrary,  hath  less  power,  but 
wider  empire.  Her  forces,  indeed,  are  not  always  irresisti- 
ble, but  the  whole  world  is  comprised  in  her  dominions.  Re- 
ality or  fact  comprehends  the  laws  and  the  works  of  nature, 
as  well  as  the  arts  and  the  institutions  of  men ;  in  brief,  all 
the  beings  which  fall  under  the  cognizance  of  the  human 
mind,  with  all  their  modifications,  operations,  and  effects.  By 
the  first,  we  must  acknowledge,  when  applied  to  things,  and 
combined  with  the  discoveries  of  the  second,  our  researches 
into  nature  in  a  certain  line  are  facilitated,  the  understanding 
is  enlightened,  and  many  of  the  arts,  both  elegant  and  useful, 
are  improved  and  perfected.  Without  the  aid  of  the  second, 
society  must  not  only  suffer,  but  perish.  Human  nature  it- 
self could  not  subsist.  This  organ  of  knowledge,  which  ex- 
tends its  influence  to  every  precinctof  philosophy,  and  governs 
in  most,  serves  also  to  regulate  all  the  ordinary,  but  indispen- 
sable concernments  of  life.  To  these  it  is  admirably  adapted, 
notwithstanding  its  inferiority  in  respect  of  dignity,  accura- 
cy, and  perspicuity  ;  for  it  is  principally  to  the  acquisitions 
procured  by  experience  that  we  owe  the  use  of  language, 
and  the  knowledge  of  almost  everything  that  makes  the  soul 
of  a  man  differ  from  that  of  a  new-born  infant.  On  the  oth- 
er hand,  there  is  no  despot  so  absolute  as  not  to  be  liable  to 
a  check  on  some  side  or  other,  and  that  the  prerogatives  of 
demonstration  are  not  so  very  considerable  as  on  a  cursory 
view  one  is  apt  to  imagine  ;  that  this,  as  well  as  every  other 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OP    RHETORIC.  69 

operation  of  the  intellect,  must  partake  in  the  weakness  in- 
cident to  all  our  mental  faculties,  and  inseparable  from  our 
nature,  I  shall  afterward  take  an  opportunity  particularly  to 
evince. 

Part  II.   The  Nature  and  Origin  of  Experience. 

I  should  now  consider  the  principal  tribes  comprehended 
under  the  general  name  of  moral  evidence ;  but,  that  every 
difficulty  may  be  removed  which  might  retard  our  progress 
in  the  proposed  discussion,  it  will  be  necessary,  in  the  first 
place,  to  explore  more  accurately  those  sources  in  our  nature 
which  give  being  to  experience,  and,  consequently,  to  all  those 
attainments,  moral  and  intellectual,  that  are  derived  from  it. 
'!'hese  sources  are  two,  sense  and  memory.  'I'he  senses, 
both  external  and  internal,  are  the  original  inlets  of  percep- 
tion. They  inform  the  mind  of  the  facts  which,  in  the  pres- 
ent instant,  are  situated  within  the  sphere  of  their  activity, . 
and  no  sooner  discharge  their  office  in  any  particular  instance 
than  the  articles  of  inf<»rmation  exhibited  by  them  are  devolv- 
ed on  the  memory.  Remembrance  instantly  succeeds  sen- 
sation, insomuch  that  the  memory  becomes  the  sole  repos- 
itory of  the  knowledge  received  from  sense  ;  knowledge 
which,  without  this  repository,  would  be  as  instantaneously 
lost  as  it  is  gotten,  and  could  be  of  no  service  to  the  mind. 
Our  sensation  would  be  no  better  than  the  fleeting  pictures 
of  a  moving  object  on  a  cainera  obscura,  which  leave  not 
the  least  vestige  behind  them.  Memory,  therefore,  is  the 
only  original  voucher  extant  of  those  past  realities  for  which 
we  had  once  the  evidence  of  sense.  Her  ideas  are,  as  it 
were,  the  prints  that  have  been  left  by  sensible  impressions. 
But  from  these  two  faculties,  considered  in  themselves,  there 
results  to  us  the  knowledge  only  of  individual  facts,  and  only 
of  such  facts  as  either  heretofore  have  come,  or  at  present 
do  come  under  the  notice  of  our  senses. 

Now,  in  order  to  render  this  knowledge  useful  to  us  in  dis- 
covering the  nature  of  things,  and  m  regulating  our  conduct, 
a  farther  process  of  the  mind  is  necessary,  wliich  deserves 
to  be  carefully  attended  to,  and  may  be  thus  illustrated.  I 
have  observed  a  stone  fall  to  the  ground,  when  nothing  in- 
tervened to  impede  its  motion.  This  single  fact  produces  lit- 
tle or  no  effect  on  the  mind  beyond  a  bare  remembrance. 
At  another  time,  I  observe  the  fall  of  a  tile,  at  another  of  an 
apple,  and  so  of  almost  every  kind  of  body  in  the  like  situa- 
tion. Thus,  my  senses  first,  and  then  my  memory,  furnish 
mo  with  numerous  examples,  wiiich,  tiiougli  diflerent  in  every 
other  particular,  are  similar  in  this,  that  they  present  a  body 
moving  downward,  till  obstructed  either  by  the  ground  or  by 
some  intervenient  object.  Hence  my  first  notion  of  gravita- 
lion.     For,  witli  regard  to  the  similar  circumstances  of  differ- 


70  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

ent  facts,  as  by  the  repetition  such  circumstances  are  more 
deeply  imprinted,  the  mind  acquires  a  habit  of  retaining  them, 
omitting  those  circumstances  pecuharto  each,  wherein  their 
difference  consists.  Hence,  if  objects  of  any  kind,  in  a  par- 
ticuhir  manner  circumstauced,  are  remembered  to  have  been 
usually,  and  still  more  if  uniformly,  succeeded  by  certain 
particular  consequences,  the  idea  of  the  former,  in  the  sup- 
posed circumstance  introduced  into  the  mind,  immediately 
associates  the  idea  of  the  latter;  and  if  the  object  itself,  so 
circumstanced,  be  presented  to  the  senses,  the  mind  instant- 
ly anticipates  the  appearance  of  the  customary  consequence. 
This  holds  also  inversely.  The  retention  and  association, 
above  explained,  are  called  experience.  The  anticipation  is, 
in  effect,  no  other  than  a  particular  conclusion  from  that  ex- 
perience. Here  we  may  remark,  by-lhe-way,  that  though 
memory  gives  birth  to  experience,  which  results  from  the 
•comparison  of  facts  remembered,  the  experience  or  habitual 
association  remains,  when  the  individual  facts  on  which  it  is 
founded  are  all  forgotten.  I  know  from  an  experience,  which 
excludes  all  doubt,  the  power  of  fire  in  melting  silver,  and 
yet  may  not  be  able  at  present  to  recollect  a  particular  in- 
stance in  which  I  have  seen  this  effect  produced,  or  even  in 
which  I  have  had  the  fact  attested  by  a  credible  witness. 

Some  will  perhaps  object,  that  the  account  now  given 
makes  our  experimental  reasoning  look  like  a  sort  of  mech- 
anism, necessarily  resulting  from  the  very  constitution  of  the 
mind.  I  acknowledge  the  justness  of  the  remark,  but  do  not 
think  that  it  ought  to  be  regarded  as  an  objection.  It  is  plain 
that  our  reasoning  in  this  way,  if  you  please  to  call  it  so,  is 
very  early,  and  precedes  all  reflection  on  our  faculties,  and 
the  manner  of  applying  them.  Those  who  attend  to  the 
progress  of  human  nature  through  its  different  stages,  and 
through  childhood  in  particular,  will  observe  that  children 
make  great  acquisitions  in  knowledge  from  experience,  long 
before  they  attain  the  use  of  speech.  The  beasts,  also,  in  their 
sphere.  Improve  by  experience,  which  hath  in  them  just  the 
same  foundations  of  sense  and  memory  as  in  us,  and  hath, 
besides,  a  similar  influence  on  their  actions.  It  is  precisely 
in  the  same  manner,  and  with  the  same  success,  that  you 
might  train  a  dog,  or  accustom  a  child,  to  expect  food  on  your 
calling  to  him  in  one  tone  of  voice,  and  to  dread  your  resent- 
ment when  you  use  another.  The  brutes  have  evidently  the 
rudiments  of  this  species  of  rationality,  which  extends  as  far 
in  them  as  the  immediate  purposes  of  self-preservation  re- 
quire, and  which,  whether  you  call  it  reason  or  instinct,  they 
both  acquire  and  use  in  the  same  manner  as  we  do.  That  it 
reaches  no  farther  in  them,  seems  to  arise  from  an  original 
incapacity  of  classing  and  (if  I  may  use  the  expression)  gen- 
eralizing their  perceptions ;  an  exercise  which  to  us  very 


THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  71 

quickly  becomes  familiar,  and  is  what  chiefly  fits  us  for  the 
usn  of  laiiijuage.  Indeed,  in  the  extent  of  this  capacity,  as 
much,  perhaps,  as  in  anything,  lies  also  the  principal  natural 
superiority  of  one  man  over  another. 

But,  that  we  may  be  satisfied  that  to  this  kind  of  reason- 
ing, in  its  ea!-liest  and  simplest  form,  little  or  no  reflection  is 
necessary,  let  it  be  observed,  that  it  is  now  universally  .la- 
mitted  hy  opticians,  that  it  is  not  purely  from  sight,  but  fiom 
sight  aided  by  experience,  that  we  derive  our  notions  of  the 
distance  of  visible  objects  from  the  eye.  The  sensation,  say 
they,  is  instantaneously  followed  by  a  conclusion  or  judgment 
founded  on  experience.  The  point  is  determined  from  the 
diflierent  phases  of  the  object,  found,  in  former  trials,  to  be 
connected  with  diflferjnt  distances,  or  from  the  effort  that  ac- 
companies the  diff'erent  conformations  we  are  obliged  to  give 
the  organs  of  sight,  in  order  to  obtain  a  distinct  vision  of  the 
object.  Now  if  this  be  the  case,  as  I  think  hath  been  suffi- 
ciently evinced  of  late,  it  is  manifest  that  this  judgment  is  so 
trulj'  instantaneous,  and  so  perfectly  the  result  of  feeling  and 
association,  that  the  forming  of  it  totally  escapes  our  notice. 
Perhaps  in  no  period  of  life  will  you  find  a  person  that,  on  the 
first  mention  of  it,  can  be  easily  persuaded  that  he  derives 
this  knowledge  from  experience.  Every  man  will  be  ready 
to  tell  you  that  he  needs  no  other  witnesses  than  his  eyes  to 
satisfy  him  that  objects  are  not  in  contact  with  his  body,  but 
are  at  different  distances  from  him,  as  well  as  from  one  an- 
other. So  passive  is  the  mind  in  this  matter,  and  so  rapid 
are  the  transitions  which,  by  this  ideal  attraction,  she  is  im- 
pelled to  make,  that  she  is,  in  a  manner,  unconscious  of  her 
own  operations.  There  is  some  ground  to  think,  from  the 
exact  analogy  which  their  organs  bear  to  ours,  that  the  dis- 
covery of  distance  from  the  eye  is  attained  by  brutes  in  the 
same  manner  as  by  us.  As  to  this,  however,  I  will  not  be 
positive.  But  though,  in  this  way,  the  mind  acquires  an  early 
perception  of  the  most  obvious  and  necessary  truths,  without 
which  the  bodily  organs  would  be  of  little  use,  in  matters  less 
important,  her  procedure  is  much  slower,  and  more  the  re- 
sult of  voluntary  application  ;  and  as  the  exertion  is  more  de- 
liberate, she  is  more  conscious  of  her  own  activity,  or,  at 
least,  remembers  it  longer.  It  is,  then,  only  that  in  common 
style  we  honour  her  operation  with  the  name  of  reasonings 
though  there  is  no  essential  difference  between  the  two 
cases.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  the  conclusions  in  the  first 
way,  by  which  also  in  infancy  we  learn  language,  are  com- 
monly more  to  be  regarded  as  infallible,  than  those  eflTectf.d 
in  the  second. 

Part  III.   The  Subdivisions  of  Moral  Reasoning. 
But  to  return  to  the  prooosed  distribution  of  moral  evi- 


72  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

dence.  Under  it  I  include  these  three  tribes,  experience, 
analogy,  and  testimony.  To  these  I  shall  subjoin  the  con- 
sideration of  a  fourth,  totally  distinct  from  them  all,  but  which 
appears  to  be  a  mixture  of  the  demonstrative  and  the  moral, 
or,  rather,  a  particular  application  of  the  former,  for  ascer- 
taining the  precise  force  of  the  latter.  .  The  evidence  I  mean 
is  that  resulting  from  calculations  concerning  chances. 

I.  Experience. 

The  first  of  these  I  have  named  peculiarly  the  evidence  of 
experience,  not  with  philosophical  propriety,  but  in  compli- 
ance with  common  language,  and  for  distinction's  sake. 
Analogical  reasoning  is  surely  reasoning  from  a  more  indi- 
rect experience.  Now  as  to  tiiis  first  kind,  our  experience  is 
either  uniform  or  various.  In  the  o^e  case,  provided  the 
facts  on  which  it  is  founded  be  sufficiently  numerous,  the 
conclusion  is  said  to  be  morally  certain.  In  the  other,  the 
conclusion  built  on  the  greater  number  of  instances  is  said  to 
be  probable,  and  more  or  less  so,  according  to  the  proportion 
which  the  instances  on  that  side  bear  to  those  on  the  oppo- 
site. Thus,  we  are  perfectly  assured  that  iron  thrown  into 
the  river  will  sink,  that  deal  will  float,  because  these  conclu- 
sions are  built  on  a  full  and  uniform  experience.  That  in 
the  last  week  of  December  next  it  will  snow  in  any  part  of 
Britain  specified,  is  perhaps  probable ;  that  is,  if,  on  inquiry 
or  recollection,  we  are  satisfied  that  this  hath  more  frequent- 
ly happened  than  the  contrary ;  that  some  time  in  tliat  month 
it  will  snow  is  more  probable,  but  not  certain,  because,  though 
this  conclusion  be  founded  on  experience,  that  experience  is 
not  uniform  ;  lastly,  that  it  will  snow  some  time  during  winter, 
will,  I  believe,  on  the  same  principles,  be  pronounced  certain. 

It  was  affirmed  that  experience,  or  the  tendency  of  the 
mind  to  associate  ideas  under  the  notion  of  causes,  effects, 
or  adjuncts,  is  never  contradicted  by  one  example  only.  This 
assertion,  it  may  be  thought,  is  contradicted  by  the  principle 
on  which  physiologists  commonly  proceed,  who  consider  one 
accurate  experiment  in  support  of  a  particular  doctrine  as 
sufficient  evidence.  The  better  to  explain  this  phenomenon, 
and  the  farther  to  illustrate  the  nature  of  experience,  I  shall 
make  the  following  observations :  First,  whereas  sense  and 
memory  are  conversant  only  about  individuals,  our  earliest 
experiences  imply,  or  perhaps  generate,  the  notion  of  a  spe- 
cies, including  all  those  individuals  which  have  the  most  ob- 
vious and  universal  resemblance.  From  Charles,  Thomas, 
William,  we  ascend  to  the  idea  of  man  ;  from  Britain,  France, 
Spain,  to  the  idea  of  kingdom.  As  our  acquaintance  with 
nature  enlarges,  we  discover  resemblances  of  a  striking  and 
important  nature,  between  one  species  and  another,  which 
naturally  begets  the  notion  of  a  genus.     From  coraparinar 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    EHETORXC.  73 

men  with  beasts,  birds,  fishes,  and  reptiles,  wc  perceive  that 
they  are  all  alike  possessed  of  life,  or  a  principle  of  sensa- 
tion and  action,  and  of  an  organized  body,  and  hence  acquire 
the  idea  of  animal;  in  like  manner,  from  comparing  king- 
doms with  republics  and  aristocracies,  we  obtain  the  idea  of 
nation,  and  thence,  again,  rise  in  the  same  track  to  ideas  still 
more  comprehensive.  Farther,  let  it  be  remembered,  that 
by  experience  we  not  only  decide  concerning  the  future  from 
the  past,  but  concerning  things  uncommon  from  things  famil- 
iar, wiiich  resemble  them. 

Now  to  apply  this  observation :  A  botanist,  in  traversing 
the  fields,  lights  on  a  particular  plant,  which  appears  to  be  of 
a  species  he  is  not  acquainted  with.  The  flower,  he  observes, 
is  monopetalous,  and  the  number  of  flowers  it  carries  is  sev- 
en. Here  are  two  facts  that  occur  to  his  observation  ;  let  us 
consider  in  what  way  he  will  be  disposed  to  argue  from  them. 
From  the  first  he  does  not  hesitate  to  conclude,  not  only  as 
probable,  but  as  certain,  that  this  individual,  and  all  of  the 
same  species,  invariably  produce  monopetalous  flowers. 
From  the  second,  he  by  no  means  concludes,  as  either  cer- 
tain or  even  probable,  that  the  flowers  which  either  this  plant, 
or  others  of  the  same  species,  carry  at  once,  will  always  be 
seven.  This  difference,  to  a  superficial  inquirer,  might  seem 
capricious,  since  there  appears  to  be  one  example,  and  but 
one  in  either  case,  on  which  the  conclusion  can  be  foimded. 
The  truth  is,  that  it  is  not  from  this  example  only  that  he  de- 
duces these  inferences.  Had  he  never  heretofore  taken  the 
smallest  notice  of  any  plant,  he  could  not  have  reasoned  at 
all  from  these  remarks.  The  mind  recurs  instantly  from  the 
unknown  to  all  the  other  known  species  of  the  same  genus, 
and  thence  to  all  the  known  genera  of  the  same  order  or 
tribe  ;  and  having  experienced  in  the  one  instance  a  regulari- 
ty in  ever}'  species,  genus,  and  tribe,  which  admits  no  excep- 
tion ;  in  the  other,  a  variety  as  boundless  as  is  that  of  sea- 
son, soil,  and  culture,  it  learns  hence  to  mark  the  difference. 

Again,  we  may  observe  that,  on  a  closer  acquaintance  with 
those  objects  wherewith  we  are  surrounded,  we  come  to  dis- 
cover that  they  are  mostly  of  a  compound  nature,  and  that 
not  only  as  containing  a  complication  of  those  qualities  called 
accidents,  as  gravity,  mobility,  colour,  extension,  figure,  so- 
lidity, which  are  common  almost  to  all  matter,  not  only  as 
consisting  of  different  members,  but  as  comprehending  a  mi.x;- 
ture  of  bodies,  often  very  different  in  their  nature  and  prop- 
erties, as  air,  fire,  water,  earth,  salt,  oil,  spirit,  and  the  like. 
These,  perhaps,  on  deeper  researches,  will  be  found  to  con- 
sist of  materials  still  simpler.  Moreover,  as  we  advance  in 
the  study  of  nature,  we  daily  find  more  reason  to  be  convin- 
ced of  her  constancy  in  all  her  operations,  that  like  causes  in 
like  circumstances  always  produce  like  effects,  and  inverse- 

G 


74  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

ly,  like  cffpcts  always  flow  nom  like  causes.  The  incon- 
stancy wliicli  appears  at  first  in  some  of  Nature's  works,  a 
more  improved  experience  teaclieth  us  to  amount  for  in  this 
manner.  As  most  of  the  objecis  we  know  are  of  a  complex 
nature,  on  a  narrow  scrutiny  we  find  that  the  effects  ascribed 
to  them  ougrht  often  solely  to  be  ascribed  to  one  or  more  of 
the  component  parts  ;  that  the  other  parts  no  way  contribute 
to  the  production  ;  that,  on  the  contrary,  they  sometimes  tend 
to  hinder  it.  If  th(!  parts  in  the  composition  of  similar  ob- 
jects were  always  in  equal  quantity,  their  being  compounded 
would  make  no  odds ;  if  the  parts,  though  not  equal,  bore  al- 
ways the  same  proportion  to  the  whole,  this  would  make  a 
difference,  but  such  as  in  many  cases  might  be  computed. 
In  both  respects,  however,  there  is  an  immense  variety. 
Perhaps  every  individual  differs  from  every  other  indivi(hiai 
of  the  same  species,  both  in  the  quantities  and  in  the  propor- 
tions of  its  constituent  members  antl  component  parts.  This 
diversity  is  also  founded  in  other  thi:igs.  which,  though  hard- 
ly reducible  to  species,  are  generally  known  by  llie  same 
name.  The  atmosphere  in  the  same  place  at  different  limes, 
or  at  the  same  time  in  different  places,  differs  in  density, 
heat,  humidity,  and  the  inunber,  quality,  and  proportion  of  the 
vapours  or  particles  with  which  it  is  loaden.  The  more,  then, 
we  become  acqu;iinted  with  elementary  natures,  the  more  we 
are  ascertained  by  a  gr-neral  experience  of  the  uniformity  of 
their  operations.  And  though,  perhaps,  it  be  impossible  for 
us  to  attain  the  knowledge  of  the  simplest  elements  of  any 
body,  yet,  when  anything  appears  so  simple,  or,  rather,  so 
exactly  uniform,  as  that  we  have  observed  it  invariably  to 
produce  similar  effects,  on  discovering  any  new  effect,  thi>ugh 
but  by  one  experiment,  we  conclu.le,  from  the  gener.il  ex- 
perience of  the  efficient,  a  like  constancy  in  this  energy  as 
in  the  rest.  Fire  consnmes  wood,  melts  copper,  and  hardens 
clay.  In  these  instances  it  acts  uniformly,  but  not  in  these 
only.  I  have  always  experienced  hitherto,  that  whatever  of 
any  species  is  consumed  by  it  at  once,  all  of  the  same  spe- 
cies it  will  consume  upon  trial  at  any  time  The  like  may 
be  said  of  wh;it  is  melted,  or  hardened,  or  otherwise  altered 
by  it.  If,  then,  for  the  first  time,  I  try  the  influence  of  fire 
on  any  fossil,  or  other  substance,  whatever  be  the  effect,  I 
readily  conclude  that  fire  will  always  produce  a  similar  effect 
on  similar  bodies.  This  conclusion  is  not  founded  on  this 
single  instance,  but  on  this  instance  compared  with  a  gener- 
al experience  of  'be  regularity  of  tliis  element  in  all  its  oper- 
itioiis. 

So  much  for  the  first  tribe,  the  evidence  of  expr-rience.  on 
which  I  have  enlarged  the  more,  as  it  is,  if  not  the  fonuia 
tion,  at  least  the  criterion,  of  all  moral  reasoning  whatever. 
It  is,  besides,  the  principal  organ  of  truth  iii  all  the  branches 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    IIHETORIO  75 

of  physiology  (I  uso  the  word  in  its  largest  acceptntion),  in- 
cluding iialiiral  history,  aslioiioniy,  g('()graf)liy,  nicclianits, 
optics,  hydruslatics,  nu'toorology,  medicine,  cluMiiislry.  I'n- 
der  tlie  general  term  I  also  conipreliend  natural  llieolugy  and 
psychology,  which,  in  my  opinion,  have  been  iriost  niinalii- 
rally  fiisjoined  by  pliilosophers.  Spirit,  whicli  here  compri- 
ses only  the  Supreme  Being  and  the  human  soul,  is  surely  as 
inuch  included  under  the  notion  of  luiiiiral  object  as  a  body 
is,  and  is  knowable  to  the  piiilosophcr  purely  in  the  same 
way,  by  observation  and  experience. 

II.  Analogy. 

The  eviaence  of  analogy,  as  was  hinted  above,  is  but  a 
more  indirect  experience,  founded  onscjme  remote  similitude. 
As  things,  however,  are  often  more  easily  comprehended  by 
the  aid  of  example  than  by  definilion,  I  shall  in  that  manner 
illustrate  the  diherenee  between  experimental  evidence  ami 
analogical.  The  circulation  of  the  blood  in  one  human  body 
is,  1  shall  suppose,  experimentally  discovered.  Nobody  will 
doubt  of  ihis  being  a  sufficient  proof,  from  experience,  that 
the  blood  circulates  in  every  human  body.  Nay,  farther, 
when  we  consider  the  great  similarity  which  other  animal 
bodies  bear  to  t!ie  human  body,  and  that  both  in  the  structure 
and  in  the  destination  of  the  several  organs  and  limbs;  par- 
ticularly when  we  consider  the  resemblance  in  the  blood  it- 
self, and  bloodvessels,  and  in  the  fabric  and  pulsation  of  the 
heart  and  arteries,  it  will  appear  sufficient  experimental  evi- 
dence of  the  circulation  of  the  blood  in  brutes,  especially  in 
quadrupeds.  Yet,  in  this  application,  it  is  manifest  that  the 
evidence  is  weaker  liian  in  the  former.  But  should  I  A\)ni 
the  same  experiment  infer  the  circulation  of  the  sap  in  vege- 
tables, this  would  be  called  an  argument  only  from  analogy. 
Now  all  reasonings  from  experience  are  obviously  weakened 
in  proportion  to  the  remoteness  of  the  resemblance  subsist- 
ing between  that  on  which  the  argument  is  founded,  and  that 
concerning  which  we  form  the  conclusion. 

The  same  thing  may  be  .considered  in  a  different  way.  I 
have  learned  from  experience  that  like  efTecis  sometimes  pro 
ceed  from  objects  which  faintly  resemble,  but  not  near  so 
frequently  as  from  objects  which  have  a  more  perfect  like- 
ness. By  this  experience,  I  am  enabled  to  determine  the  de- 
grees of  probability  from  the  degrees  of  similarity,  in  the  dif- 
ferent cases.  It  is  presumable  that  tiie  former  of  these  ways 
has  the  earliest  influence,  when  the  mind,  unaccustomed  to 
reflection,  forms  hut  a  weak  association,  and,  consequently, 
but  a  weak  expectation  of  a  similar  event  from  a  weak  re- 
semblance.  The  latter  seetns  more  the  result  of  thought, 
and  is  better  adupted  to  tiie  ordinary  forms  of  reasoning. 

It  is  allowed  tliat  analogical  evidence  is  at  best  but  a  feeble 


76  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC 

support,  and  is  hardly  ever  honoured  with  the  name  of  proof. 
Nevertheless,  when  the  aiialogiiis  arc  nuineroiis,  and  llie  siil)- 
ject  admits  not  evidence  ofannther  kind,  it  dntli  not  want  ils 
efTicacy.  It  mnst  be  owned,  however,  that  it  is  gencr.illy 
more  sni.'cessfnl  in  silencing  objections  than  in  evincing  trntli, 
iind  on  this  account  may  more  properly  be  styled  the  defen- 
sive arms  of  the  orator  than  tlie  offensive.  Though  it  rarely 
refutes,  it  frequently  repels  refutation,  like  those  weapons 
wliich,  though  they  cannot  kill  the  enemy,  will  ward  his 
blows.* 

III.  Testimony. 
The  third  tribe  is  the  evidence  of  testimony,  which  is  ei- 
ther oral  or  written.  This,  also,  hath  been  thought  by  some, 
but  unjustly,  to  be  solely  and  originally  derived  from  the  same 
source,  experience. f  The  utmost  in  regard  to  this  that  can 
be  affirmed  with  truth  is,  that  the  evidence  of  testimony  is  to 
be  considered  as  strictly  logical,  no  farther  than  human  ve- 
racity in  general,  or  the  veracit)'  of  witnesses  of  such  a  cliar- 
acter,  -and  in  sucli  circumstances  in  particular,  is  supported  ; 
or,  perhaps,  more  properly,  hath  not  been  refuted  by  experi- 
ence. But  that  testimony,  antecedently  to  experience,  hath 
a  natural  influence  on  belief,  is  undeniable.  In  this  it  resem- 
bles memory;  for  though  the  defects  and  misrepresentations 
of  memory  are  corrected  by  experience,  yet  that  this  faculty 
hath  an  innate  evidence  of  its  own,  we  know  from  this,  that  if 
we  had  not  previously  given  an  implicit  faith  to  memory,  ue 
had  never  been  able  to  acquire  experience.  This  will  appear 
from  a  revisal  of  its  nature,  as  explained  above.  Nay,  it 
must  be  owned,  that  in  what  regards  single  facts,  testimony 
is  more  adequate  evidence  than  any  conclusion  from  expe- 
rience. The  iiTimediate  conclusions  from  experience  are 
general,  and  run  thus:  "This  is  the  ordinary  course  of  na- 
ture." "  Such  an  event  may  reasonably  be  expected,  when 
all  the  attendant  circumstances  are  similar."  When  we  de- 
scend to  particulars,  the  conclusion  necessarily  becomes 
weaker,  being  more  indirect;  for,  though  all  the  known  cir- 
cumstances be  similar,  all  the  actual  circumstances  mav  not 
be  similar;  nor  is  it  possible,  in  any  case,  to  be  assured  that 
all  the  actual  circumstances  are  known  to  us.  Accordingly, 
experience  is  the  foundation  of  philosophy,  which  consists 
in  a  collection  of  general  truths,  systematically  digested.  On 

*  Dr.  Buller,  in  his  excellent  treatise  called  The  Analogy  of  Religion, 
T^atnral  and  Revealed,  tn  the  Constilation  and  Course  vf  Nature,  hatll  shown 
US  liow  useful  this  mode  of  reasoning  may  be  rendered,  liy  the  application 
he  hath  so  successfully  made  of  it,  for  rel'iuing  the  cavils  of  infidelity. 

t  I  had  occasion  to  make  some  reflections  on  this  subject  formerly.  See 
Dissertation  on  .Miracles,  part  i.,  sect.  i.  There  are  several  ingenious  ob 
Bervations  on  the  same  subject  in  Reid's  Inquiry,  ch.  vi.,  sect,  xxiii 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RIIETORIC.  77 

the  contrary,  the  direct  conclusion  from  testiniony  is  partic 
ui;ir,  and  rnns  tluis  :  "This  is  tlie  fad  in  the  instance  spcci- 
fie<i."  Testimony,  tlicrefore,  is  the  fomuhition  of  history, 
which  is  occupied  about  individuals.  Hence  we  derive  oui 
acquaintance  witii  past  ages,  as  from  experience  we  derive 
all  that  we  can  discover  of  the  future,  lint  the  former  is 
dignified  with  the  name  of  knowledge,  wliereas  the  latter  is 
regarded  as  matter  of  conjecture  onl)'.  When  experience  is 
applied  to  the  discovery  of  the  truth  in  a  particular  incident, 
we  call  the  evidence  presumptive  ;  ample  testimony  is  ac- 
counted a  positive  proof  of  the  facts.  Nay,  the  strongest 
"jonviction  built  merely  on  the  former  is  sometimes  overturn- 
fei  by  the  slightest  attack  of  the  latter.  Testimo'.iy  is  capa- 
ble of  giving  us  absolute  certainty  (Mr.  Hume  himself  being 
judge*)  even  of  the  most  miraculous  fact,  or  of  what  is  con- 
trary to  uniform  experience  ;  for,  perhaps,  in  no  other  in- 
stance can  experience  be  applied  to  individual  events  with  so 
much  certainty  as  in  what  relates  to  the  revolutions  of  the 
heavenly  bodies.  Yet,  even  this  evidence,  he  admits,  may 
not  only  be  counterbalanced,  but  destroyed,  by  testimony. 

But  to  return.  Testimony  is  a  serious  intimation  from  an- 
other of  any  fact  or  observation,  as  being  what  he  remembers 
to  have  seen,  or  heard,  or  experienced.  To  this,  when  we 
have  no  positive  reasons  of  mistrust  or  doubt,  we  are,  by  an 
original  principle  of  our  nature  (analogous  to  that  which  com- 
pels our  faith  in  memory),  led  to  give  an  unlimited  assent. 
As  on  memory  alone  is  founded  the  merely  personal  experi- 
ence of  the  individual,  so  on  testimonjs  in  concurr(|*ice  with 
memory,  is  founded  the  much  more  extensive  experience, 
which  is  not  originally  our  own,  but  derived  from  others. t 
By  the  first,  I  question  not,  a  man  might  acquire  all  the  knowl- 
edge necessary  for  mere  animal  support,  in  that  rudest  state 
of  human  nature  (if  ever  such  a  state  existed)  which  was 
without  speech,  and  without  society  ;  to  the  last,  in  con- 
junction with  the  other,  we  are  indebted  for  everytiiing  which 
distinguishes  the  man  from  the  brute,  for  language,  arts,  and 
civilization.  It  hath  been  observed,  that  from  experience 
we  learn  to  confine  our  belief  in  human  testimony  within  the 
proper  bounds.  Hence  we  are  taught  to  consider  many  at- 
tendant circumstances,  which  serve  either  to  corroborate  or 
to  invalidate  its  evidence.  The  reputation  of  the  attester, 
his  manner  of  address,  the  nature  of  the  fact  attested,  the  oc- 
casion of  giving  the  testimony,  the  possible  or  probable  de- 
sign in  giving  it,  the  disposition  of  the  hearers  to  whom  it 
was  given,  and  several  oilier  circumstances,  have  all  consid- 
erable influence  in  fixing  the  degree  of  credibility.  But  of 
these  I  shall  have  occasion  to  take  notice  afterward.     It  de- 

•  Essay  on  Miracles,  p.  2.  t  Dissertation  on  Miracles,  pail  i.,  scc.ii 

G2 


78  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    KHETORIC. 

sel-ves,  likewise,  to  be  attended  to  on  ibis  subject,  tbnt  in  a 
number  of  concurrent  icslinionies  (in  ciises  vvbfMcin  there 
could  have  been  no  previous  concert),  there  is  a  probability 
disinict  from  that  which  may  be  termed  the  sum  of  the  prob- 
abiliiies  resulting  from  the  testimonies  of  the  witnesses,  a 
probability  which  would  remain  even  though  the  witnesses 
were  of  such  a  character  as  to  merit  no  faith  at  all.  This 
probability  arisctb  purely  from  the  concurrence  itself.  That 
such  a  concurrence  should  spring  from  chance,  is  as  one  to 
infinite;  thai  is,  in  other  words,  morally  impossible.  If, 
therefore,  concert  be  excluded,  there  remains  no  other  cautse 
but  the  reality  of  the  fact. 

Now  to  this  species  of  evidence,  testimony,  we  are  first 
immediately  indebted  for  all  the  branches  of  philology,  such 
as  history,  civil,  ecclesiastic,  and  literary  ;  grammar,  lan- 
guages, jurisprudence,  and  criticism  ;  to  which  I  may  adll  re- 
vealed religion,  as  far  as  it  is  to  be  considered  as  a  subject 
of  historical  and  critical  inquiry,  and  so  discoverable  by  nat- 
ural means  :  and,  secondly,  to  the  same  source  we  owe,  as 
was  hinted  above,  a  great  part  of  that  light  which  is  com- 
monly known  under  the  name  of  experience,  but  which  is,  in 
fact,  not  founded  on  our  own  personal  observations,  or  the 
notices  originally  given  by  our  own  senses,  but  on  the  at- 
tested experiences  and  observations  of  others.  .So  that  as 
hence  we  derive  entirely  our  knowledge  of  the  actions  and 
productions  of  men,  especially  in  other  regions,  and  m  for- 
mer ages  ;  hence  also  we  derive,  in  a  nuicii  greater  measure 
than  is  ^jommonly  imagined,  our  acquaintance  with  Nature 
and  her  works.  Logic,  rhetoric,  ethics,  economics,  and  pol- 
itics, are  properly  branches  of  pneumatology,  though  very 
closely  comiected  with  the  philological  studies  above  enu- 
merated. 

IV.   Calculations  of  Chances. 

The  last  kind  of  evidence  I  proposed  to  consider  was  that 
resulting  from  calculations  of  chances.  Chance  is  not  com- 
monly understood,  either  in  philosoi>hic  or  in  vulgar  language, 
to  imply  the  exclusion  of  a  cause,  but  our  ignorance  of  the 
cause.  It  is  often  employed  to  denote  a  bare  possibility  of 
an  event,  when  nothing  is  known  either  to  produce  or  to  hin- 
der it.  But  in  this  meaning  it  can  never  be  made  the  subject 
of  calculation.  It  then  only  affords  scope  to  the  calculator, 
when  a  cause  is  known  for  the  production  of  an  effect,  and 
when  that  effect  must  necessarily  be  attended  with  this,  or 
that,  or  the  other  circumstance;  but  no  cause  is  known  to 
determine  us  to  regard  one  particular  circumstance,  in  pref 
erence  to  the  rest,  as  that  which  shall  accompany  the  sup. 
posed  effect.  'I'he  effect  is  then  considered  as  necessary,  but 
the  circumstance  as  only  casual  or  contingent.     When  a  die 


THE    PHILOSOniY    OF    RIIHTORIC. 


79 


IS  thrown  out  of  tlie  Iiaiifl,  we  know  tliiit  its  pravitj-  will  m;ike 
il  frill;  we  know,  iilso,  that  this,  together  with  its  i-nbical  fig. 
ure.  will  make  it  lie  so,  when  iiitert-epted  by  the  table,  as  lo 
have  one  side  lacing  upwanl.  Thus  far  we  pr()C(!ed  on  the 
certain  principles  of  a  uniforin  experience  ;  but  there  is  no 
principle  which  can  lead  nie  lo  conclude  that  one  side  rather 
than  another  will  be  turned  up.  I  know  that  this  circuui- 
stance  is  not  without  a  cause;  but  is,  on  the  contrary,  as 
really  eflected  by  the  previous  tossing  which  it  receives  in 
the  hand  or  in  the  box,  as  its  fall  and  the  manner  of  its  lying 
are  by  its  gravit)'  and  lignre.  Hut  the;  various  turns  or  mo- 
tions given  it,  in  this  manner, do  inevitably  escape  iny  notice, 
and  so  are  held  for  nothing.  1  say,  therefore,  that  the  chance 
is  equal  for  every  one  of  the  six  sides.  Now  if  five  of  these 
were  marked  with  the  same  figure,  su[)pose  a  dagger  (f),  and 
only  one  with  an  asterisk  (*),  1  should,  in  that  case,  say,  there 
were  five  chances  tli;it  the  die  would  turn  up  the  dagger,  for 
one  that  it  would  turn  up  the  asteiisk  ;  for  the  turning  up 
each  of  the  six  sides  being  equally  possible,  there  are  five 
cases  in  which  the  dagger,  and  only  one  in  which  the  aster- 
isk, would  he  uppcu'most. 

'J'his  differs  from  experience,  inasmuch  as  I  reckon  the  prob- 
ability here,  not  fnun  mmiberiug  and  comparing  th<;  (.'vents 
afttM'  repeated  trials,  but  without  any  tri.il,  from  balancing 
llie  possibilities  on  both  sides.  But,  though  different  from 
exp.  rience.  it  is  so  similar,  that  we  cannot  wonder  that  it 
should  [)roduce  a  similar  effect  upon  the  mind.  These  dif- 
ferent positions  being  considered  as  equal,  if  any  of  five  shall 
produce  one  effect,  and  but  the  sixth  another,  the  mind  weigh- 
ing the  dillerent  events,  resteth  in  an  expectation  of  that  in 
which  the  greater  number  of  chances  conciu' ;  but  still  ac- 
companied with  a  degree  of  hesitancy,  which  a|)pears  propor- 
tioned to  the  number  of  chances  on  tlu;  opposite  side,  it  is 
much  after  the  same  niamu-r  that  llie  mind,  on  comparing  its 
own  experiences,  when  five  instances  favour  one  side,  to  one 
that  favours  the  contrary,  determines  the  greater  credibility 
of  the  former.  Hence,  in  all  complicated  cases,  the  very  de- 
gree of  probability  may  be  arithmetically  ascertained.  'I'liat 
two  dice  marked  in  the  common  way  will  turn  up  seven,  is 
thrice  as  probable  as  that  they  will  turn  up  eleven,  and  six 
times  as  probable  as  that  they  will  turn  up  twelve.*     The 


*  Call  one  die  A,  the  oilier  B. 


A  I.  [5  0. 
A  2.  B  5. 
A3,     ti  4 

Tiie  chances 
A  G. 
A  5. 

The  only  chance  for  12  is  A  G,  B  6. 

3(1  as  6  to  1 


The  chances  for  7  are, 
A  4.     1?  X 
A  5.     U  2. 
A  G.     B  1. 
for  eleven  are, 
B5. 
BG. 
The  1st  is  to  the  2d,  as  6  to  2 ;  to  the 


80  THR    PHILOSOrilY    OF    RHETORIC. 

degree  of  probability  is  here  determined  demonstratively. 
It  is  indeed  true,  that  such  mathematical  calculations  may 
be  founded  on  experience,  as  well  as  upon  chances.  Exam- 
ples of  this  we  have  in  the  computations  that  have  been  made 
of  the  value  of  annuities,  ensurances,  and  several  other  com- 
mercial articles.  In  such  cases,  a  great  number  of  instances 
is  necessary,  the  greatest  exactness  in  collecting  them  on 
each  side,  and  due  care  that  there  be  no  discoverable;  pecu- 
liarity in  any  of  them,  which  would  render  them  unfit  for 
supporting  a  general  conclusion. 

Part  IV.  The  Superiority  of  Scientific  Evidence  re-examined. 

After  the  enumeration  made  in  the  first  part  of  this  sec- 
tion of  the  principal  differences  between  scientific  evidence 
and  moral,  I  signified  my  intention  of  resuming  the  subject 
afterward,  as  far,  at  least,  as  might  be  necessary  to  show  that 
the  prerogatives  of  demonstration  are  not  so  considerable 
as,  on  a  cursory  view,  one  is  apt  to  imagine.  It  will  be  prop- 
er now  to  execute  this  intention.  I  could  not  attempt  it 
sooner,  as  the  right  apprehension  of  what  is  to  be  advanced 
will  depend  on  a  just  conception  of  those  things  which  have 
lately  been  explained.  In  the  comparison  referred  lo,  I  con- 
trasted the  two  sorts  of  evidence,  as  they  are  in  themselves, 
without  considering  the  influence  which  the  necessary  appli- 
cation of  our  faculties  in  using  both  has,  and  ought  to  have, 
on  the  effect.  The  observations  then  made  in  that  abstracted 
view  of  the  subject  appear  to  be  well  founded.  Butthat  view, 
I  acknowledge,  doth  not  comprehend  the  whole  with  which 
we  are  concerned. 

It  was  observed  of  memory,  that  as  it  instantly  succeeds 
sensation,  it  is  the  repository  of  all  l^e  stores  from  which  our 
experience  is  collected,  and  that  without  an  implicit  faith  in 
the  clear  representations  of  that  faculty,  we  could  not  ad- 
vance a  step  in  the  acquisition  of  experimental  knowledge. 
Yet  we  know  that  memory  is  not  infallible  ;  nor  can  we  pre- 
tend that  in  any  case  there  is  not  a  physical  possibility  of  her 
making  a  false  report.  Here,  it  may  be  said,  is  an  irremedi- 
able imbecility  in  the  very  foundation  of  moral  reasoning. 
But  is  it  less  so  in  demonstrative  reasoning?  This  point 
deserves  a  careful  examination. 

It  was  remarked  concerning  the  latter,  that  it  is  a  proof 
consisting  of  an  uninterrupted  series  of  axioms.  The  truth 
of  each  is  intuitively  perceived  as  we  proceetl.  But  this  pro- 
cess is  of  necessity  gradual,  and  these  axioms  are  all  brought 
in  succession.  It  must,  then,  be  solely  by  tiie  aid  of  memory 
that  they  are  capable  of  producing  conviction  in  the  mind. 
Nor  by  this  do  I  mean  to  affirm  that  we  can  remember  the 
preceding  steps,  with  their  connexions,  so  as  to  have  them 
all  present  to  our  viev/  at  one  instant ;  for  then  we  should,  in 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    F.IIETORIC.  81 

that  instant,  perceive  the  whole  intuitively.  Our  nMiicm- 
brance,  ou  the  contrary,  amounts  to  no  more  than  ihi.s,  that 
the  perception  of  the  truth  of  the  axiom  to  which  we  have  ad- 
vanced in  the  proof,  is  accompanied  witli  a  strong  impression 
on  the  memory  of  the  satisfaction  that  the  mind  received 
from  the  justness  and  regularity  of  what  preceded.  And  in 
this  we  are  under  a  necessity  of  acquiescing;  for  the  under- 
standing is  no  more  capable  of  contemplating  and  perceiving, 
at  once,  the  truth  of  all  the  propositions  in  the  series,  than 
the  tongue  is  capable  of  uttering  them  at  once.  Before  we 
make  great  progress  in  geometry,  we  come  to  demonstrations 
wherein  there  is  a  reference  to  preceding  demonstrations  ; 
and  in  these,  perhaps,  to  others  that  preceded  them.  The 
bare  reflection  that  as  to  these  we  once  were  satisfied,  is 
accounted  by  every  learner,  and  teacher  too,  as  snflicient. 
And,  if  it  were  not  so,  no  advancement  at  all  coidd  be  made 
in  this  science.  Yet  here,  again,  the  whole  evidence  is  re- 
duced to  the  testimony  of  memory.  It  may  be  said  that, 
along  with  the  remembrance  now  mentioned,  tliere  is  often 
in  the  mind  a  conscious  power  of  recollecting  the  several 
steps,  whenever  it  pleases ;  but  the  power  of  recollecting 
them  severally  and  successively,  and  the  actual  instantane- 
ous recollection  of  lift  whole,  are  widely  diiterent.  Now 
what  is  the  consequence  of  this  induction  1  It  is  plainly  this, 
that  in  spite  of  the  pride  of  mathesis,  no  demonstration  what- 
ever can  produce,  or  reasonably  ought  to  produce,  a  higher 
degree  of  certainty  than  that  which  results  from  tiie  vivid 
representations  of  memory,  on  which  the  other  is  obliged  to 
lean.  Such  is  here  the  natural  subordination,  however  ra- 
tional and  purely  intellectual  the  former  may  be  accounted, 
however  mysterious  and  inexplicable  the  latter;  for  it  is  man- 
ifest that,  without  a  perfect  acquiescence  in  such  represent- 
ations, the  mathematician  could  not  advance  a  single  step 
beyond  his  definitions  and  axioms.  Nothing,  therefore,  is 
more  certain,  however  inconceivable  it  appeared  to  Dr.  Priest- 
ley, than  what  was  affirmed  by  Dr.  Oswald,  that  the  possibiiily 
of  error  attends  the  most  complete  demonstration. 

If  from  theory  we  recur  to  fact,  we  shall  quickly  find  that 
those  most  deeply  versed  in  this  sort  of  reasoning  are  con- 
scious of  the  justness  of  the  remark  now  made.  A  geom- 
etrician, I  shall  suppose,  discovers  a  new  theorem,  which, 
having  made  a  diagram  for  the  purpose,  he  attempts  to  de- 
monstrate, and  succeeds  in  the  attempt.  The  figure  he  hath 
constructed  is  very  complex,  and  the  demonstration  long. 
Allow  me  now  to  ask.  Will  lie  be  so  perfectly  satisfied  on 
the  first  trial  as  not  to  think  it  of  importance  to  make  a  sec- 
ond, perhaps  a  third,  and  a  fourth  ?  Whence  arises  this  dif- 
fidence! Purely  from  the  consciousness  of  the  fallibility  of 
his  own  faculties.     But  to  what  purpose,  it  may  be  said,  the 


82  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

reiterations  of  the  attempt,  since  it  is  impossible  for  liim  by 
any  efforts,  to  shako  off  liis  depenriancc  on  the  accuracy  of 
his  attention,  and  fidelity  of  his  memory'!  Or,  what  can  he 
have  more  than  reiterated  testimonies  of  his  memory,  in  sup- 
port of  the  truth  of  its  former  testimony  1  I  acknowledge 
that,  after  a  hundred  attempts,  he  can  have  no  more.  But 
even  this  is  a  great  deal.  We  learn  from  experience,  that 
the  mistakes  or  oversights  committed  by  the  mind  in  one 
operation  are  sometimes,  on  a  review,  corrected  in  a  second, 
or,  perhaps,  in  a  third.  Besides,  the  repetition,  when  no  error 
is  discovered,  enlivens  the  remembrance,  and  so  strengthens 
the  conviction.  But  for  this  conviction  it  is  plain  that  we  are, 
in  a  great  measure,  indebted  to  memory,  and,  in  some  meas- 
ure, even  to  experience. 

Arithmetical  operations,  as  well  as  geometrical,  are  in  their 
nature  scientific  ;  yet  the  most  accurate  accountants  are  very 
sensible  of  the  possibility  of  comiuitting  a  blunder,  and,  there- 
fore, rarely  fail,  for  securing  the  matter,  when  it  is  of  impor- 
tance, to  prove  what  they  have  done,  by  trying  to  effect  the 
same  thing  another  way.  You  have  employed  yourself,  I 
suppose,  in  resolving  some  difiacult  problem  by  algebra,  and 
are  convinced  that  your  solution  is  just.  One  whom  you 
know  to  be  an  expert  algebraist  carefully  peruses  the  whole 
operation,  and  acquaints  you  that  he  hath  discovered  an  error 
in  your  procedure.  You  are  that  instant  sensible  that  your 
conviction  was  not  of  such  an  impregnable  nature  but  that 
his  single  testimony,  in  consequence  of  the  confidence  you 
repose  in  his  experienced  veracity  and  skill,  makes  a  consid- 
erable abatement  in  it. 

Many  cases  might  be  supposed  of  belief,  founded  only  on 
moral  evidence,  which  it  would  be  impossible  thus  to  shake. 
A  man  of  known  probity  and  good  sense,  and  (if  you  think  it 
makes  an  addition  of  any  moment  in  tliis  case)  an  astrono- 
mer and  philosopher,  bids  you  look  at  the  sun  as  it  goes  down, 
and  tells  you,  with  a  serious  countenance,  that  the  sun  which 
sets  to-day  will  never  rise  again  upon  tlie  earth.  What  would 
be  the  effect  of  this  declaration  '  Would  it  create  in  you  any 
doubts^  I  believe  it  might,  as  to  the  soundness  of  the  man's 
intellect,  but  not  as  to  the  truth  of  what  he  said.  Tluis.  if 
we  regard  only  the  effect,  demonstration  itself  doth  not  al- 
ways produce  such  immovable  certainty  as  is  sometimes 
consequent  on  merely  moral  evidence.  And  if  there  are,  on 
the  other  hand,  some  well-known  demonstrations,  of  so  great 
authority  that  it  would  equally  look  like  lunacy  to  impugn,  it 
may  deserve  the  attention  of  the  curious  to  inquire  how  far, 
with  respect  to  the  bulk  of  mankind,  these  circumstances, 
their  having  stood  the  test  of  agps,  their  having  obtained  the 
universal  suffrage  of  those  who  are  qualified  to  examine  them. 


THE   miLOSOPIIY    OF    RIIETOnit:.  83 

things  purely  of  the  iKittire  of  niornl  evideuco,  havo  coiurib- 
uled  to  that  iinshakeii  failli  with  which  they  aiv  received. 

The  principal  difference,  then,  in  respect  oT  the  result  of 
both  kinds,  is  reduced  to  this  narrow  point.  In  mathennui- 
cal  reasoning,  provided  you  are  ascertained  of  the  reptdar 
procedure  of  the  mind,  to  affirm  that  the  conchision  is  false 
implies  a  contradiction;  in  moral  reasoning,  ihougli  the  pro- 
ce<Iure  of  the  mind  were  quite  unexceptionable,  there  still  re- 
mains a  physical  possibility  of  the  falsity  of  the  conclusion. 
Bui  how  small  this  dilference  is  in  reality,  any  judicious  per- 
son who  but  attends  a  little  may  easily  discover.  The  geom- 
etrician, for  instance,  can  no  more  doubt  whether  the  book 
called  Kuclid's  Elements  is  a  human  composition,  whether  its 
contents  were  discovered  and  digesled  into  the  order  in  which 
they  are  there  disposed  by  hmnan  genius  and  art,  t!ian  he 
can  doubt  the  truth  of  the  propositions  therein  demonstrated. 
Is  lie  in  the  smallest  degree  surer  of  any  of  the  properties  of 
the  circle,  than  that  if  he  take  away  his  hand  from  ihe  com- 
passes, with  which  he  is  describing  it  on  the  wall,  they  will 
immediately  fall  to  the  ground!  'I'hese  ihings  aft":'ei  his 
mind,  and  influence  his  practice,  precisely  in  the  same  man- 
ner. 

So  much  for  Itie  various  kinds  of  evidence,  whether  intui- 
tive or  deductive;  intuitive  evirience,  as  divided  into  tliat  of 
pure  intellection,  of  consciousness,  and  of  common  sense, 
under  the  last  of  which  that  of  memf)ry  is  included  ;  deduc- 
tive evidence,  as  divided  into  scientific  and  moral,  with  the 
subdivisions  of  the  latter  into  experience,  analogy,  and  testi- 
mony, to  which  hath  been  added,  the  consideration  of  a  mi.>c- 
ed  species  concerning  chances.  So  much  for  tlie  various 
subjects  of  discourse,  and  the  sorts  of  eviction  of  which  they 
are  respectively  susceptible.  This,  tliough  peculiarly  the  h)- 
gician's  province,  is  the  foundation  of  all  conviciion,  and, 
consequently,  of  persuasion  too.  To  attain  either  of  tiles;; 
ends,  the  speaker  must  always  assume  the  character  of  the 
close  and  candid  re;isoner :  for  though  he  may  be  an  acute 
logician  who  is  no  orator,  he  will  never  be  a  consummate 
orator  who  is  no  logician. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

OF  THE  NATURE  AND  USE  OF  THE  SCHOLASTIC  ART  OF  SVI.LO- 
GUING. 

Having  in  the  preceding  chapter  endeavoin-ed  to  trace  the 
outlines  of  naturailogic,  perhaps  with  more  miimteness  than 


84  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    IinETOIlIC. 

in  such  an  inquiry  as  this  was  strictly  necessary,  it  might  ap- 
pear strange  to  pass  over  in  silence  the  dialectic  of  the 
schools ;  an  art  wliich,  though  now  fallen  into  disrepute, 
maintained,  for  a  tract  of  ages,  the  highest  reputation  among 
the  learned.  What  was  so  long  regarded  as  teaching  the  only 
legitimate  use  and  application  of  our  rational  powers  in  the 
acquisition  of  knowledge,  ought  not,  surely,  when  we  arc 
employed  in  investigating  the  nature  and  the  different  sorts 
of  evidence,  to  be  altogether  overlooked. 

It  is  long  since  I  was  convinced,  by  what  Mr.  Locke  hath 
said  on  the  subject,  that  the  syllogistic  art,  with  its  figures 
and  moods,  serves  more  to  display  the  ingenuity  of  the  in- 
ventor, and  to  exercise  the  address  and  fluency  of  the  learn- 
er, than  to  assist  the  diligent  inquirer  in  his  researches  after 
truth.  The  method  of  proving  by  syllogism  appears,  even 
on  a  superficial  review,  both  unnatural  and  prolix.  The  rules 
laid  down  for  distinguishing  the  conclusive  from  the  incon- 
clusive forms  of  argument,  the  true  syllogism  from  the  vari- 
ous kinds  of  sophism,  are  at  once  cumbersome  to  the  memo- 
ry, and  unnecessary  in  practice.  No  person,  one  may  ven- 
ture to  pronounce,  will  ever  be  made  a  reasoner  who  stands 
in  need  of  them.  In  a  word,  the  whole  bears  the  manifest 
indications  of  an  artful  and  ostentatious  parade  of  learning, 
calculated  for  giving  the  appearance  of  great  profundity  to 
what,  in  fact,  is  very  shallow.  Such,  I  acknowledge,  have 
been,  of  a  lop.g  t-ime,  my  sentiments  on  the  subject.  On  a 
nearer  inspection,  I  cannot  say  I  have  found  reason  to  alter 
them,  though  I  think  I  have  seen  a  little  farther  into  the  na- 
ture of  the  disputative  science,  and,  consequently,  into  the 
grounds  of  its  futility.  I  shall,  therefore,  as  briefly  as  possi- 
ble, lay  before  the  reader  a  few  observations  on  the  subject, 
and  so  dismiss  this  article. 

Permit  me  only  to  premise  in  general,  that  I  proceed  all 
along  on  the  supposition  that  the  reader  hath  some  previous 
acquaintance  with  scliool  logic.  It  would  be  extremely  su- 
perfluous, in  a  v/ork  like  this,  to  give  even  the  shortest 
abridgment  that  could  be  made  of  an  art  so  well  known, 
and  which  is  still  to  be  found  in  many  thousand  volumes. 
Oil  the  other  hand,  it  is  not  necessary  that  he  be  an  adept  in 
it ;  a  mere  smattering  will  sufficiently  serve  the  present  pur- 
pose. 

My  first  observation  is,  that  this  method  of  arguing  has  not 
the  least  affinity  to  moral  reasoning,  the  procedure  in  the  one 
being  the  very  reverse  of  that  employed  in  the  other.  In 
moral  reasoning  we  proceed  by  analysis,  and  ascend  from 
particulars  to  univcrsals ;  in  syllogizing  we  proceed  by  syn- 
thesis, and  descend  from  uuiversals  to  particulars.  The  an- 
alytic is  the  only  method  which  we  can  follow  in  the  acquisi- 
tion of  natural  knowledge,  or  of  whatever  regards  actual  ex- 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  95 

istenccs ;  the  syntlirtic  is  more  properly  the  method  that 
ought  to  be  pursued  in  tlie  application  of  knowledge  already 
acquired.  It  is  for  this  reason  it  has  been  called  ilie  didac- 
tic method,  as  being  the  shortest  way  of  communicating  the 
principles  of  a  science.  But  even  in  teaching,  as  ol'ten  as 
we  attempt,  not  barely  to  inform,  but  to  convince,  there  is  a 
necessity  of  recurring  to  the  tract  in  which  the  knowledge 
we  would  convey  was  first  attained.  Now  the  method  of 
reasoning  by  syllogism  more  resembles  mathematical  dem- 
onstration, wherein,  from  universal  principles,  called  ax- 
ioms, we  deduce  many  truths,  which,  though  general  in  their 
nature,  may,  when  compared  with  those  first  principles,  be 
justly  styled  particular.  Whereas,  in  all  kinds  of  knowledge 
wherein  experience  is  oiu*  only  guide,  we  can  proceed  to  gen- 
eral truths  solely  by  an  induction  of  particulars. 

Agreeably  to  this  remark,  if  a  syllogism  be  regular  in  mood 
and  figure,  and  if  the  premises  be  true,  the  conclusion  is  in- 
fallible. The  whole  foundation  of  the  syllogistic  art  lies  in 
these  two  axioms:  "Things  which  coincide  with  the  same 
thing,  coincide  with  one  another;"  and  "  Two  things,  where- 
of one  does,  and  one  does  not  coincide  with  the  same  thing, 
do  not  coincide  with  one  another."  On  the  former  rest  all 
the  affirmative  syllogisms,  on  the  latter  all  the  negative.  Ac- 
cordingly, there  is  no  more  mention  here  of  probability  and 
of  degrees  of  evidence,  than  in  the  operations  of  geometry 
and  algebra.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  the  term  pruhaUe  may  be 
admitted  into  a  syllogism,  and  make  an  essential  part  of  the 
conclusion,  and  so  it  may  also  in  an  arithmetical  computa- 
tion ;  but  this  docs  not  in  the  least  aff'ecl  what  was  advanced 
just  now;  for,  in  all  such  cases,  the  probability  itself  is  as- 
sumed in  one  of  the  premises  :  whereas,  in  the  inductive 
method  of  reasoning,  it  often  happens  that  from  certain  facts 
v/e  can  deduce  only  probable  consequences. 

I  observe,  secondly,  that  though  this  manner  of  arguing  has 
more  of  the  nature  of  scientific  reasoning  than  of  moral,  it 
has,  nevertheless,  not  been  thought  worthy  of  being  adopted 
by  mathematicians  as  a  proper  method  of  demonstrating  their 
theorems.  I  am  satisfied  that  mathematical  demonstration 
is  capable  of  being  moulded  into  the  syllogistic  form,  having 
made  the  trial  with  success  on  some  propositions.  But  that 
this  form  is  a  very  incommodious  one,  and  has  many  disad- 
vantages, but  not  one  advantage  of  that  commonly  practised, 
will  be  manifest  to  every  one  who  makes  the  experiment. 
It  is  at  once  more  indirect,  more  tedious,  and  more  obscure. 
I  may  add,  that  if  into  those  abstract  sciences  one  were  to  in- 
troduce some  specious  fallacies,  such  fallacies  could  be  much 
more  easily  sheltered  under  the  awkward  verbosity  of  this  ar- 
tificial method,  than  under  the  elegant  simplicity  of  that  which 
has  hitherto  been  used. 

H 


86  THE    PIIILOSOrHY    OF   RHETCRIC. 

My  third  romnrk,  which,  by-the-way,  is  directly  corscquent 
on  the  I  wo  former,  shall  bo,  tliat  in  tlie  ordinary  apj  licalion 
ol'  iliis  art  lo  niatirrs  with  wiiicli  wc  can  be  made  actjiiaiiiH'd 
only  by  exfjerieace,  ii  can  he  of  litile  or  no  utility.  So  far 
fnHii  leading  ilie  mind,  agreeably  to  llie  design  of  all  argn- 
menl  anrl  investig.ition,  from  tilings  known  lo  tilings  un- 
known, and  by  things  evident  to  things  obscure,  its  usual  prog- 
ress is,  on  the  contrary,  from  things  less  known  to  things 
belter  known,  and  by  things  obscure  to  things  evident.  But, 
that  it  may  not  be  thought  that  1  do  injnslice  to  the  art  by  this 
representation,  1  must  enlreut  that  the  following  considera- 
tions may  be  attended  to. 

WIk'u,  in  the  way  of  induction.  t!ie  mind  proceeds  from  in- 
dividual instances  to  the  discovery  of  such  truths  as  regard  a 
species,  and  from  these,  again,  to  such  as  comprehend  a  ge- 
nus, we  may  say,  with  reason,  that  as  we  advance,  there 
may  be  in  every  succeeding  sttp,  and  commonly  is,  less  cer- 
tainly than  in  the  pieceding  ;  but  in  no  instance  whatever 
can  "there  be  more.  Besides,  as  the  judgment  formed  con- 
cerning the  less  general  was  anterior  to  that  formed  concern- 
ing the  more  general,  so  the  conviction  is  mon;  vivid  arising 
from  both  circumstances  ;  that  being  less  general,  it  is  more 
distinctly  conceived,  and  being  earlier,  it  is  more  deeply  im- 
printed. Now  the  customary  procedure  in  the  syllogistic 
science  is,  as  was  remarked,  the  natural  method  reversel,  be- 
ing from  general  to  special,  and,  consequently,  from  less  to 
more  obvious.  In  scientific  reasoning  the  case  is  very  differ- 
ent, as  the  axioms  or  universal  truths  from  which  the  mathe- 
matician argues  are  so  far  from  being  the  slow  result  of  in- 
duction and  experience,  that  they  arc  self-evident.  They  are 
no  sooner  apprehended  than  necessarily  assented  to. 

Bui,  lo  illustrate  the  matter  by  examples,  take  the  follow- 
ing specimen  in  Bw  hara,  the  first  mood  of  the  first  figure  : 

"  All  .mimals  leel  ; 
Ail  horses  are  ariininls; 
Tlierelbre  all  horses  (eel." 

It  is  impossible  that  any  reasonable  man,  who  really  doubts 
whether  a  horse  has  feeling  or  is  a  mere  aulomaion,  should 
be  convinced  by  this  argument;  for,  supposing  he  uses  the 
names  horse  and  animal  as  standing  in  the  same  relation  of 
species  and  genus  which  they  bear  in  the  common  accepta- 
tion of  the  words,  the  argument  you  employ  is,  in  effect,  but 
an  affirmation  of  the  point  which  he  denies,  couched  in  such 
terms  as  include  a  multitude  of  other  similar  alTirmations, 
which,  whether  true  or  false,  are  nothing  to  the  purpose. 
Thus,  all  animals  feel,  is  only  a  compendious  expression  for 
all  horses  feci,  all  ,(h><^s  f''el,  all  camels  feel,  all  eagles  feU  and 
so  through  the  whole  animal  creation.  I  affirm,  besides,  that 
the  nrocedure  here  is  from  things  less  known  to  things  bet- 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETOIIIC.  87 

ter  known.  It  is  possible  that  one  may  believe  the  coiirhi- 
sion  who  denies  the  major;  but  the  reverse  is  not  possible; 
for,  to  express  myself  in  the  language  of  the  art,  that  may  be 
predicated  of  the  species  which  is  not  predicalile  of  the  gc- 
nu> ;  lint  that  can  never  be  predicated  of  the  genus  whicli  is 
not  predicable  of  tlie  species.  If  one,  therefore,  were  undei 
such  an  error  in  regard  to  llie  brutes,  true  logic,  which  is  al- 
ways coincident  with  good  sense,  would  lead  our  reflections 
to  the  indications  of  perception  and  feeling  given  by  these 
animals,  and  the  remarkable  conformity  which  in  this  respect, 
and  in  respect  of  their  bodily  organs,  they  bear  to  our  own 
species. 

It  may  be  said,  that  if  the  sul)jeci  of  the  question  were  a 
creature  much  more  ignol)le  than  the  horse,  tlK-re  would  be 
no  scope  for  this  objection  to  the  argument.  Su!)stitute.  then, 
the  word  oysters  for  horses  in  the  minor,  and  it  will  stand  tlius  : 

"  AM  animals  feel  ; 
All  oy-stpr-s  are  animals  ; 
Therelore  all  oysters  (eel." 

In  order  to  give  the  greater  advantage  to  the  advocate  for 
this  scholastic  art,  let  us  suppose  the  antagonist  does  not 
maintain  the  opposite  side  from  any  favour  to  l)es  Cartes's 
theory  concerning  brutes,  but  from  some  notion  entertained 
of  that  par  /cular  order  of  beings  which  is  the  subject  of  dis- 
pute. It  is  evident,  that  thougli  he  should  admit  the  trutli  of 
the  major,  he  would  regard  the  minor  as  merely  another  man- 
ner of  expressing  the  conclusion:  for  he  would  conceive  an 
animal  no  otherwise  than  as  a  body  endowed  with  sensation 
or  feeling. 

Sometimes,  indeed,  there  is  not  in  the  premises  any  posi- 
tion more  generic,  under  which  the  conclusion  can  be  com- 
prised. In  this  case,  you  always  find  that  the  same  proposi- 
tion is  exhibited  in  different  words,  insomuch  that  the  stress 
of  the  argument  lies  in  a  mere  synonyma,  or  something  equiv- 
alent.    The  following  is  an  example  : 

"  The  Almighty  onghl  to  be  worshipped  ; 
God  is  the  Almighty  ; 
Therefore  God  ouyht  to  be  worshipped." 

It  would  be  superfluous  to  illustrate  that  this  argument  could 
have  no  greater  influence  on  the  Epicurean  tlian  the  first- 
mentioned  one  would  have  on  the  Cartesian.  To  suppose 
the  contrary  is  to  suppose  the  conviction  effected  by  the 
charm  of  a  soimd,  and  not  by  the  sense  of  wiiat  is  advanced. 
Thus,  also,  the  middle  term  and  the  subject  frequently  cor- 
respond to  each  other:  as  the  definition,  description,  or  cir- 
cumlocution, and  tiie  name.  Of  this  I  shall  give  an  (example 
in  Disamis,  as,  in  the  technical  dialect,  the  third  mood  of  the 
third  figure  is  denominated  : 


88  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETOniC. 

"  Some  men  are  rapacious ; 
All  iiiRii  are  rational  animals  ; 
Therefore  some  rational  animals  are  rapacious." 

Who  does  not  perceive  that  rational  animals  is  but  a  peri- 
phrasis for  men  ? 

It  may  be  proper  to  subjoin  one  example,  at  least,  in  neg- 
ative syllogisms.  The  subsequent  is  one  in  Celarent,  the 
second  mood  of  the  first  figure  : 

"Nothing  violent  is  lasting; 
But  tyranny  is  violent ; 
Therefore  tyranny  is  not  lasting." 

Here  a  thing  violent  serves  for  the  genus  of  which  tyranny  is 
a  species  ;  and  nothing  can  be  clearer  tlian  that  it  requires 
much  less  experience  to  discover  whether  shortness  of  du- 
ration be  justly  attributed  to  tyranny,  the  species,  than  wheth- 
er it  be  justly  predicated  of  every  violent  thing.  The  appli- 
cation of  wiiat  was  said  on  tht  first  example  to  that  now  giv- 
en is  so  obvious,  that  it  would  be  losing  time  to  attempt  far- 
ther to  illustrate  it. 

Logicians  have  been  at  pains  to  discriminate  the  regular 
and  consequential  combinations  of  the  three  terms,  as  they 
are  called,  from  the  irregular  and  inconsequent.  A  combina- 
tion of  the  latter  kind,  if  the  defect  be  in  the  form,  is  called 
a  paralogism  ;  if  in  the  sense,  a  sophism  ;  though  sometimes 
these  two  appellations  are  confounded.  Of  the  latter,  one 
kind  is  denominated  ;;c/?7io  principii,  which  is  commonly  ren- 
dered in  English  a  begijimng  of  the  quesiinn,  and  is  defined, 
the  proving  of  a  thing  by  itself,  whether  expressed  in  the 
same  or  in  diff'erent  words ;  or,  which  amount.s  to  the  same 
thing,  assumip.g  in  the  proof  the  very  opinion  or  principle 
proposed  to  be  proved.  It  is  surprising  that  this  should  ever 
have  been  by  those  artists  styled  a  sophism,  since  it  is.  in 
fact,  so  essential  to  the  art,  that  there  is  always  some  radical 
defect  in  a  syllogism  which  is  not  chargeable  with  this.  The 
truth  of  what  I  now  affirm  will  appear  to  any  one,  on  the 
slightest  review  of  what  has  been  evinced  in  the  preceding 
part  of  the  chapter. 

The  fourth  and  last  observation  I  shall  make  on  this  topic 
is,  that  the  proper  province  of  the  syllogistical  science  is 
rather  the  adjustment  of  our  language,  in  expressing  our- 
selves on  subjects  previously  known,  than  the  acquisition  ol 
knowledge  in  things  themselves.  According  to  M.  du  Mar- 
sais,  "  Reasoning  consists  in  deducing,  inferring,  or  drawing 
a  judgment  from  other  judgments  already  known;  or,  rather, 
in  showing  that  the  judgment  in  question  has  been  already 
formed  implicitly,  insomuch  that  the  only  point  is  to  develop 
it,  and   show  its  identity  with  some  anterior  judgment."* 

*  "  Le  raisonnement  consiste  a  deduire,  a  inferer,  a  tirer  un  jugement  d'au- 
tres  jugemens  deja  connus ;  ou  plutot  a  faire  voir  que  le  jugement  dont  il 


THE    nilLOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  89 

Now  I  affirm  that  the  former  part  of  this  definition  suits  all 
do.iuctive  reasoiiiii<j,  whetlicr  scieiUifical  or  moral,  in  which 
the  principle  deduced  is  distinct  from,  however  closely  rela- 
ted to,  the  principles  from  which  the  deduction  is  made.  The 
latter  part  of  tlie  definition,  which  begins  with  the  words  or 
rather,  does  not  answer  as  an  explication  of  the  former,  as 
the  author  seems  to  have  intended,  but  exactly  hits  the  char- 
acter of  syllogistic  reasoning,  and,  indeed,  of  all  sorts  of  con- 
troversy merely  verbal.  If  you  regard  only  the  thing  signi- 
fied, the  argument  conveys  no  instruction,  nor  does  it  for- 
ward us  in  the  knowledge  of  things  a  single  step.  But  if 
you  regard  principally  the  signs,  it  may  serve  to  correct  mis- 
application of  them,  through  inadvertency  or  otherwise. 

In  evincing  the  truth  of  this  doctrine,  I  shall  begin  with  a 
simple  illustration  from  what  may  happen  to  any  one  in  study- 
ing a  foreign  tongue.  I  learn  from  an  Italian  and  French  dic- 
tionary tiiat  the  Italian  word  pecora  corresponds  to  the  French 
word  brebis,  and  from  a  French  and  English  dictionary,  that 
the  French  brcbis  corresponds  to  the  English  sheep.  Hence 
I  form  this  argument, 

"Pecora  is  the  same  with  brebis, 
Brebis  is  the  same  with  sheep  ; 
Therefore  pecora  is  the  same  with  sheep." 

This,  though  not  in  mood  and  figure,  is  evidently  conclusive. 
Nay,  more,  if  the  words  pecora,  brebis,  and  sheep,  under  the 
notion  of  signs,  be  regarded  as  the  terms,  it  has  three  dis- 
tinct terms,  and  contains  a  direct  and  scientifical  deduction 
from  this  axiom,  "  Things  coincident  with  the  same  thing  are 
coincident  with  one  another."  On  the  other  hand,  let  the 
things  signified  be  solely  regarded,  and  there  is  but  one  term 
in  the  whole,  namely,  the  species  of  quadruped,  denoted  by 
three  names  above  mentioned.  Nor  is  there,  in  this  view 
of  the  matter,  another  judgment  in  all  the  three  propositions 
but  this  identical  one,  "  A  sheep  is  a  sheep." 

Nor  let  it  be  imagined  that  the  only  right  application  can 
be  in  the  acquisition  of  strange  languages.  Every  tongue 
whatever  gives  scope  for  it,  inasmuch  as  in  every  tongue  the 
speaker  labours  under  great  inconveniences,  especially  on 
abstract  questions,  both  from  the  paucity,  obscurity,  and  am- 
biguity of  the  words  on  the  one  hand,  and  from  his  own  mis- 
apprehensions and  imperfect  acquaintance  with  them  on  the 
oilier.  As  a  man  may,  therefore,  by  an  artful  and  sophisti- 
cal use  of  them,  be  brought  to  admit,  in  certain  terms,  what 
he  would  deny  in  others,  this  disputatious  discipline  may, 
under  proper  management,  by  setting  in  a  stronger  light,  the 
inconsistencies  occasioned  by  such  improprieties,  be  rcnder- 

s'agit,  a  deja  ete  porte  d'une  maniere  implicite  ;  des  sorte  qii'il  n'esi  phis 
question  que  de  le  developer,  et  d'en  faire  voire  I'identile  avec  quelque  jugo 
inent  asi  tcrieur." — Logique,  Art.  7. 

H  2 


90  THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF    RHETORIC 

ed  instrumental  in  correcting  tlieni.  It  was  remarked  abovr,* 
that  suc'ii  propositions  as  these  "  Twelve  are  a  dffZen" — 
"  'I'weiity  are  a  score,"  unless  considered  as  explications  of 
ihe  words  dozen  and  score,  are  quite  insignificanl.  This  lini- 
itaiicn,  however,  it  was  necessarj'  to  add;  for  those  posi- 
tions which  are  identical  when  considered  purely  as  relating 
to  tlic  things  signified,  are  nowise  identical  when  retjarded 
purely  as  explanatory  of  the  names.  Suppose  that  through 
tlie  imperfection  of  a  man's  knowledge  in  the  language,  aided 
by  another's  sophistry,  and  perhaps  his  own  inattention,  he 
is  brought  to  admit  of  the  one  term  what  he  would  refuse 
of  the  other,  such  an  argument  as  this  might  be  employed, 
"Twelve,  yoii  allow,  are  equal  to  the  fifth  part  of  sixty ; 

Now  a  dozen  are  eqxial  lo  twelve; 

Therefore  a  dozen  are  equal  to  the  fifth  part  of  sixty." 

I  mark  the  case  rather  strongly,  for  the  sake  of  illustration 
for  1  am  sensible,  that  in  whai.  regards  things  so  definite  as 
all  names  of  number  are,  it  is  impossible  for  any  who  are  not 
quite  ignorant  of  the  tongue  to  be  misled.  But  the  intelli- 
gent reader  will  easily  conceive,  that  in  abtruse  and  meta- 
physical subjects,  wherein  the  terms  are  often  botli  exten- 
sive and  indtifinite  in  tiieir  signification,  and  sometimes  even 
equivocal,  the  most  acute  and  wary  may  be  entangled  in  them. 
\\\  farther  confirm. ition  of  my  fom-th  remark.  I  sliall  pro- 
duce an  e.vample  in  Ca/uestres,  the  second  mood  of  the  sec- 
ond figure  : 

"  All  animals  are  mortal ; 

But  angeLs  are  not  mortal  ; 

Tlicrefore  an^ols  are  not  animals." 

When  the  antagonist  calls  an  angel  an  animal,  it  must  pro 
ceel  from  one  or  other  of  these  two  causes,  either  from  an 
error  in  regard  to  the  nature  of  the  angelic  order,  or  from  a 
mistake  as  to  the  import  of  the  Englisji  word  nmmal.  If  the 
first  be  the  case — namely,  some  erroneous  opiilion  about  an- 
gels, as  that  they  are  imbodicd  spirits,  generated  and  corrupt- 
ible like  ourselves— it  is  evident  that  the  forementioncd  .syl- 
logism .abours  under  the  comiuon  defect  of  all  syllogisms. 
It  assumes  the  very  point  in  question.  But  if  the  difference 
between  the  disputants  be,  as  it  frequently  happens,  merely 
verbal,  and  the  opponent  uses  the  word  animal  as  another 
name  for  living  creature,  and  as  exactly  corresponding  to 
the  Greek  term,t  arguments  of  this  sort  may  be  of  service 
for  setting  the  impropriety  of  such  a  misapplication  of  the 
l^nglish  name  in  a  clearer  light.  For  let  it  be  observed,  that 
though  Nature  hath  strongly  marked  the  principal  difVeren- 
ces  to  be  found  in  different  orders  of  beings,  a  procedure 
which  hath  suggested  to  men  the  manner  of  classing  things 

*  Chap,  v.,  sect,  i.,  part.  L  f  (uv. 


Tiir.  ruiLosoriiY  of  rhetoric.  91 

into  gpiipra  and  species,  this  docs  not  hold  equally  in  every 
oa.se.  Hence  it  is  that  ihe  general  terms  in  dillerent  ian- 
ffiia^es  do  not  always  exacUy  correspond.  Some  nations 
iVom  particular  circnmsiances,  are  more  alVeeted  hy  one  prop- 
erty in  ohjects,  others  by  another.  This  leads  to  a  different 
distribution  of  things  under  their  several  names.  Now,  thougli 
it  is  not  (jf  importance  that  the  words  in  one  tongue  exactly 
correspond  to  those  in  another,  it  is  of  importanc<^  thai  in  i!ie 
same  tongue  uniformity  in  this  respect  be,  as  much  as  p«)ssi" 
ble,  obser  -ed.  Errors  in  regard  to  the  signs  tend  not  only  to 
retard  the  progress  of  knowledge,  but  to  introduce  errors  in 
regard  to  the  things  signified.  Now,  by  suggesting  the  dif- 
ferent attributes  comprised  in  the  definition  of  the  term  as 
so  many  mediums  in  the  proof,  an  appeal  is  made  to  the  ad- 
versary's practice  in  the  language.  In  this  way  such  medi- 
ums may  be  presented  as  will  satisfy  a  candid  adversary  that 
the  application  he  makes  of  the  terin  in  question  is  not  con- 
formable to  the  usage  of  the  tongue. 

On  liie  other  hand,  it  is  certain  that,  in  matters  of  an  ab- 
stract and  complex  nature,  where  the  terms  are  comprehen- 
sive, indefinite,  not  in  frequent  use,  and,  consequently,  not 
well  ascertained,  men  may  argue  together  eternally  without 
making  the  smallest  impression  on  each  other,  not  sensible 
all  the  wliile  that  there  is  not  at  bottom  any  difference  be- 
tween them,  except  as  to  the  import  of  words  and  phrases. 
J  do  not  say,  however,  that  this  is  a  consequence  peculiar  to 
t.liis  manner  of  debating,  thougli  perhaps  ofteiier  resulting 
from  it,  on  account  of  its  many  nice  distinctions,  unmeaning 
subleiies,  and  mazy  windings,  than  from  any  other  manner. 
For  it  must  be  owned,  that  the  syllogistic  art  has  at  least  as 
often  been  employed  for  imposing  fallacies  on  the  understand- 
ing as  for  detecting  those  imposed.  And  though  verbal  con- 
troversy seems  to  be  its  natural  province,  it  is  neither  the 
only  method  adapted  to  such- discussions,  nor  the  most  ex- 
peditious. 

To  conclude,  then,  what  shall  we  denominate  the  artificial 
system,  or  organ  of  truth,  as  it  has  been  called,  of  which  \\*e 
have  been  treating]  Shall  we  style  it  the  art  of  reasoning? 
So  honourable  an  appellation  it  liy  no  means  merits,  since,  as 
hath  been  shown,  it  is  ill  adapted  to  scientific  matters,  and 
for  that  reason  never  employed  by  the  mathematician,  and  is 
utterly  in.apable  of  assisting  us  in  our  researches  into  na- 
ture. Shall  we  then  pronounce  it  the  science  of  logomachy, 
or,  in  plain  Englisli,  the  art  of  fighting  with  words  and  about 
words  !  And  in  this  wonly  warfare,  sh.ill  we  say  that  the 
rules  of  syllogizing  are  the  tactics  ?  This  would  certainly  hit 
the  mutter  ni'j|^e  nearly  ;  but  I  knosv  not  how  it  happens,  ilu'.t 
to  call  anything  logomaclnj  or  altercali<i)i  would  be  considered 
as  giving  bad  names  ;  and  when  a  good  use  may  be  made  o/ 


92  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    PJIETORIC. 

an  invention,  it  seems  unreasonable  to  fix  an  odious  name 
upon  it,  whicli  oiiglU  only  to  discriminate  tlie  abuse.  I  shall 
tlierefore  only  title  it  the  sciiolastic  art  of  disputation*  It 
is  the  schoolmen's  science  of  defence. 

When  all  erudition  consisted  more  in  an  acquaintance  with 
words,  and  an  address  in  using  them,  than  in  the  knowledge 
of  things,  dexterity  in  this  exercitation  conferred  as  much 
lustre  on  the  scholar  as  agility  in  the  tilts  and  tournaments 
added  glory  to  the  knight.  In  proportion  as  the  attention  of 
mankind  has  been  drawn  off  to  the  study  of  Nature,  the  hon- 
ours of  this  contentious  art  have  faded,  and  it  is  now  almost 
forgotten.  There  is  no  reason  to  wish  its  revival,  as  elo- 
quence seems  to  have  been  very  little  benefited  by  it,  and  phi- 
losophy still  less. 

Nay,  there  is  but  too  good  reason  to  affirm  that  there  are 
two  evils  at  least  which  it  has  gendered.  Tliese  are,  first,  an 
Itch  of  disputing  on  every  subject,  however  uncontrovertible  ; 
the  other,  a  sort  of  philosophic  pride,  which  will  not  permit 
us  to  think  that  we  believe  anything,  even  a  self-evident  prin- 
ciple, without  a  previous  reason  or  argument.  In  order  to 
gratify  this  passion,  we  invai'iably  recuj"  to  words,  and  are  at 
immense  pains  to  lose  ourselves  in  clouds  of  our  own  rais- 
ing. We  imagine  we  are  advancing  and  making  wonderful 
progress,  while  the  mist  of  words  in  which  we  have  involv- 
ed our  intellects  hinders  us  from  discerning  that  we  are  mo- 
ving ia  a  circle  all  the  time.f 

*  It  answers  to  that  branch  of  logic  which  Lord  Verulam  styles  Doctrina 
de  elenchis  hcrmenicE ;  concerning  which  he  affii  ms,  "  Dedimus  ei  nomen  ex 
\isu,  quia  varus  ejus  usus  est  plane  redargulio,  el  caulio  circa  usuin  verbo- 
rum.  Quirnmo  partem  lUam  de  prsdicamenlis,  si  recte  instiluatur,  circa 
caulionesde  nonconfundendisaui  traiisponendisdefinitionumet  divisioiiutn 
ternnnis,  praecipuum  usum  sortiri  existimamus,  et  hucetiam  reierri  inalu- 
mus." — De  Au!i.  Sci.,  1.  v.,  c.  iv. 

t  How  ridiculous  are  the  efl'orts  which  some  very  learned  and  judicious 
men  have  made,  in  order  to  evince  that  whatever  begins  to  exist  must  have 
a  cause.  One  argues,  "There  must  have  been  a  cause  to  determine  ihe 
tyne  and  place,"  as  though  it  were  more  evident  that  the  accidents  could 
not  be  deterinmed  without  a  cause,  than  that  the  existence  of  iht  thmg 
coul(i  not  be  so  determined.  Another  insists,  very  curiously,  that  if  a  thing 
had  no  cause,  it  must  have  been  the  cause  of  itself;  a  third,  with  equal  con- 
sistency, that  nothing  must  have  been  the  cause.  Thus,  by  always  assu- 
ming the  absolute  necessity  of  a  cause,  they  demonstrate  the  absolute  necessiti/ 
of  a  cause.  For  a  full  illustration  of  the  futdity  of  such  pretended  reason- 
ings, see  the  Treiitise  of  Human  Nature,  b.  i.,  part  iii.,  section  3.  1  do  not 
tluuk  they  iiave  succeeded  better  who  have  attempted  to  assign  a  reason  for 
the  lailh  we  have  in  this  pnnci[)le,  that  the  future  will  rese/tihle  the  past.  A 
late  author  imagines  that  he  solves  the  difficulty  at  once  by  saying  that 
"  wliat  is  now  time  past  was  once  future;  and  that,  though  no  man  has  had 
experience  of  what  is  future,  every  man  has  had  experience  of  what  was  fu- 
ture." Would  it,. then,  be  more  perspicuous  to  state  the  q.uestion  thus, 
"How  come  we  to  believe  that  what  is  faiure,  not  what  vms  future,  will  re- 
semble the  past  ?"  Of  the  first  he  says  expressly,  that  no  man  has  had  e.K 
perience,  though  almost  in  the  same  breath  he  tells  us,  not  very  consistent 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETOKIC.  03 


CHAPTER  VII. 

OK    THE    CONSIDERATION    WHICH     THE     SPEAKER     OUGHT    TO     HAVE 
OF    THE    HEARERS,    AS    WtIN    IN    GENERAL. 

Uhktoric,  as  was  observed  already,  not  only  considers  the 
subject,  but  also  tlie  hearers  and  the  speaker.*  The  hearers 
must  be  considered  in  a  twofold  view,  as  men  in  general,  and 
as  such  men  in  particular. 

As  men  in  general,  it  must  be  allowed  there  are  certain 
principles  in  our  nature  wliich,  when  properly  addressed  and 
managed,  give  no  inconsiderable  aid  to  reason  in  promoting 
belief.  Nor  is  it  just  to  conclude  from  this  concession,  as 
some  have  hastily  done,  that  oratory  may  be  defined  "  The 
art  of  deception. "'  Tiie  use  of  such  helps  will  be  found^on 
a  stricter  examination,  to  be  in  most  cases  quite  legitimate, 
and  even  necessary,  if  we  would  give  reason  herself  that  in- 
ly, "  The  answer  is  sufficient :  have  we  not  alway.s  found  it  to  be  so  ?"  an 
answer  which  appears  lo  nie  not  more  illogical  than  ungrainiiiatical.  But 
admiUiiig  with  liiin  that  to  con.suier  time  as  past  or  future  (though  no  dis- 
tinction-can be  more  precise)  is  only  puzzling  the  qiiestioti,  let  us  inquire 
whether  a  reason  can  be  assigned  for  judging  that  the  unknown  lime  will 
resemble  the  known.  Suppose  onr  whole  tune  divided  into  equal  portions. 
Call  these  portions  A,  B,C,  1),  E,  F,  G.  Of  these  the  first  three  have  be(!n  ex- 
perienced, the  remaining  four  are  not.  The  tirsl  three  1  found  to  resemble 
one  another,  but  how  must  1  argue  with  regard  to  the  rest?  Shall  I  say  C 
was  like  A,  therefore  D  will  be  like  C ;  or,  if  you  iliink  it  strengthens  the 
argument,  shall  1  say  G  resembled  A  and  13,  therefore  1)  will  resemble  A,  B, 
and  C  '.  I  would  gladly  know  what  sort  of  reasoning,  scieiitiiical  or  moral, 
this  could  be  denominated,  or  what  is  the  medium  by  which  the  conclusion 
is  made  out .'  Suppose,  farther,  I  get  acquainted  with  U,  formerly  unknown, 
and  tiiid  that  it  actually  resembles  A,  B,  and  C,  liow  can  this  furnish  me 
with  any  knowledge  of  E,  E,  and  G,  things  totally  distinct  .'  The  resem- 
blance 1  h.ave  discovered  in  D  to  A,  B,  and  C,  can  never  be  extended  tuany- 
lliMig  that  IS  not  D,  nor  any  part  of  D,  namely,  to  E,  F,  and  G,  unless  you 
assume  this  as  the  medium,  that  the  unknown  will  resemble  the  known, 
or,  which  is  equivalent,  that  the  future  will  resemble  the  past.  So  far 'is 
this  principle,  therefore,  from  being  deduced  from  particular  experiences, 
that  It  is  fundamental  to  all  particular  deductions  from  experience,  in  which 
we  could  not  advance  a  single  step  without  it.  We  are  often  misled  in  ca- 
ses of  this  nature  by  a  vague  and  |;opular  use  of  words,  not  attending  to  the 
nicer  differences  in  their  import  in  diHerent  situations.  If  one  were  to  ask 
nie,  -'Have  you,  then,  no  reason  to  believe  that  the  future  will  rese:nblo 
the  past  .'"  i  should  certainly  answer,  "  1  have  the  greatest  reason  to  be- 
lieve it."  And  if  the  question  had  been  concerning  a  geomelncal  axiom.  I 
should  have  relnriied  the  same  answer.  By  reason  we  often  mean,  not  an 
argument  or  (iiediuin  of  [iroving,  but  a  ground  in  human  nature  on  which  a 
particular  jiidguient  is  founded.  Nay,  farther,  as  no  progres-s  in  reasoning 
can  li!-^  made  where  there  is  no  foundation  (and  first  principles  are  here  the 
sol(!  fciijiidation).  1  .should  readily  ad. nit,  that  the  man  who  does  not  believe 
r.uch  propositions,  if  it  were  possible  lo  find  such  a  man,  is  perfectly  irra 
tional,  and,  consequently,  not  to  be  argued  vvitis.  '  Cii:;p.  iv 


94  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

fluriT^c  which  is  certainly  her  due.  In  order  to  evince  the 
iniih  considered  by  itsself,  conclusive  arguments  alone  are  re- 
quisite :  but  in  order  to  convuice  nie  by  these  arguments,  it 
is  moreover  requisite  that  they  be  understood,  tlial  iliey  be 
attended  to,  that  lliey  be  remembered  by  me:  and.  in  order 
to  persuade  me  by  them  to  any  particular  action  or  conduct, 
it  is  farther  requisite  that,  by  interesting  me  in  the  subject, 
Ihey  may,  as  it  were,  be  felt.  It  is  not,  therefore,  the  under- 
standing alone  that  is  here  concerned.  If  the  orator  would 
prove  successful,  it  is  necessary  that  he  engage  in  his  ser- 
vice all  these  different  powers  of  tlie  mind,  the  imagination, 
tlie  memory,  and  the  passions.  Tliese  are  not  the  supplaiit- 
ers  of  reason,  or  even  rivals  in  her  sway  ;  they  are  her  hand- 
maids, by  whose  ministry  she  is  enabled  to  usher  truth  into 
the  heart,  and  procure  it  there  a  favourable  reception.  As 
handmaids,  they  are  liable  to  be  seduced  by  sophistry  in  the 
garb  of  reason,  and  sometimes  are  made  ignorantly  to  lend 
tUBr  aid  in  the  introduction  of  falsehood.  I3ut  their  service 
is  not  on  tfiis  account  to  be  disijcnsed  with ;  there  is  even  a 
necessity  of  employing  it  founded  in  our  nature.  Our  eyes, 
and  hands,  and  feet  will  give  us  the  same  assistance  in  doing 
mischief  as  in  doing  good  :  but  it  would  not,  therefore,  be 
better  for  tlie  world  that  all  mankind  were  blind  and  lame. 
Arms  are  not  to  be  laid  aside  by  honest  men  because  carried 
by  assassins  and  ruffians;  they  are  to  be  used  the  rather  for 
tills  very  reason.  Nor  are  those  mental  powers,  of  which 
eloquence  so  much  avails  herself,  like  the  art  of  war  or  other 
human  arts,  perfectly  indifferent  to  good  and  evil,  and  only 
beneficial  as  they  are  rightly  employed.  On  the  contrary, 
they  are  by  nature,  as  will  perhaps  appear  afterward,  more 
friendly  to  truth  than  to  falsehood,  and  more  easily  retained 
in  the  cause  of  virtue  than  in  that  of  vice.* 

*  "  Notandum  est  enim,  affectus  ipsos  ad  bomim  apparens  semper  ferri. 
atque  tiac  ex  parte  aliquid  habere  cum  ratioiie  commune  :  verum  iliud  inter- 
est ;  quod  uffeclus  intumtur  prcEcijnie  homan  in  ■prceifentin  ;  rutin  prospiciens  in 
lorig^utn,  elian>,  fulurum,  el  in  siimina.  Ideoque  cum  quse  \n  praesentia  ol)'  er- 
sentur,  impieant  plianlasiam  fortius,  succumbil  pleniinque  ratio  et  suLju 
gatnr.  Sed  postqunm  eloqneiuiA,  el  snasionum  vi  etiiectum  sit,  ul  luiura  et 
remota  constituaiuur  et  conspiciantur  tanquam  prassentia,  tiimdemum  tlie- 
unte  in  partes  rationis  phaiitasia,  ratio  tit  superior.  Concludamus  igitur, 
noil  deberi  masis  vitio  verti  Rhetorics,  quod  deteriorem  partem  cohonestare 
sciat ;  quam  DialecticrB,  quod  sophismata  concinnare  doceat.  Quis  enitn 
nescit,  contrariorum  eandein  rationem  esse,  licit  usu  opponantur?" — De 

Aug.  Sci.,  I.  vi  ,  c.  iii.  T«  v-OKttucva  -zpiiynnra  ovx  o/jtoio);  cxn-aXX'  iiin  Tii\ri9!} 
Ktii  TO  PeXTiio  T7J  (prau,  cvavWoyiCTOTcpa  Kill  ■nidiivuiTCf'i.  oii  d~\uii  ti-s7v.  *  *  *  El 
^(.bri  iicyuXa  ffXii^ctcv  uiio  xpdfitvos  A-^iKu)i  rfj  Toinvrri  I'lvi'dutt  rdv  Xnyuiv,  TviiTO  rt 
Kotvof  laTt  Kr.Ta  TTiii'ruv  Ton'  ilyaUuiii,  7:X>))'  upCJtis,  K'li  naXtcTu  Kiira  toiv  xpi)aiiJnaTd- 
Twy,  oiov  laxvos,  iiyidaf,  tiXuvtoo.  oTpuTijyiui'  tuiovtuk  yap  civ  ris  uKticXt'iacie  'd 
yJyioTa,  ■xfiiijitvoi.&iKaiijii,  Koi  (JXiilj/ucv,  aSixiui. — AkIST.,  Khet.,  \.  1.,  c.  i 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  ^5 

SECTION  r. 

MEN    CONSIDKRED   AS    ENDOWED   WITH    UNDERSTANDINO. 

But  to  descend  to  particulars  :  the  first  thing  to  be  studied 
by  the  speaker  is,  that  his  arguments  may  ho  understood.  Il 
they  bo  unintelligible,  the  causo  nuisl  be  oitlier  in  the  sense 
or  in  the  expression.  It  lies  in  the  sonso  if  the  mediums  ol 
proof  bosucii  as  the  hearers  are  unacqnaintcd  with;  that  is,  i{ 
the  ideas  introduced  be  eitlier  without  the  sphere  of  their 
knowledge,  or  too  abstract  for  their  apprehension  and  habits 
of  thinkmg.  It  lies  in  the  sense  likewise,  if  the  train  of  rea- 
soning (liiough  no  unusual  ideas  should  be  inlro;iuced)  be 
longer,  or  more  complex,  or  more  intricate,  than  they  are 
accustomed  to.  But  as  the  fitness  of  the  arguments  in  these 
respects  depends  on  the  capacity,  education,  and  attainments 
of  the  hearers,  which  in  diderent  orders  of  men  are  diflercnt, 
this  properly  belongs  to  the  consideration  which  the  speaker 
ought  to  have  of  liis  audience,  not  as  men  in  general,  but  as 
such  men  in  particular.  The  obscurity  which  ariseth  from 
the  expression  will  come  in  course  to  be  considered  in  the 
sequel. 

SECTION  II. 

MEN    CONSIDERED    AS    ENDOWED    WITH    IMAGINATION. 

Thk  second  thing  requisite  is  that  his  reasoning  be  attend- 
ed to;  for  this  purpose  the  imagination  must  be  engaged. 
Attention  is  prerequisite  to  every  eflect  of  speaking,  and 
without  some  gratification  in  hearing,  lliere  will  be  no  atten- 
tion, at  least,  of  any  continuance.  I'hose  qualities  in  ideas 
whicli  principally  <; ratify  the  fi'.ncy  are  vivacity,  beauty,  sub- 
limity, novelty.  Nothing  contributes  more  to  vivacity  than 
striking  resemblances  in  the  imagery,  which  convey,  besides, 
an  additional  pleasure  of  their  own. 

But  there  is  siill  a  farther  end  to  be  served  by  pleasing  the 
imagination  than  that  of  awakening  and  preserving  the  at- 
tention, however  important  this  purpose  alone  ought  to  be 
accounted.  I  will  not  say  with  a  late  subtile  metaphysician,* 
that  "  Belief  consisteth  in  the  liveliness  of  our  ideas."  That 
this  doctrine  is  erroneous,  it  would  be  quite  foreign  to  my 
purpose  to  attempt  here  to  evince. f  Thus  much,  however, 
is  indubitable,  that  belief  commonly  enlivens  our  ideas,  and 
that  lively  ideas  have  a  stronger  inllucncc  than  faint  ideas  to 
induce  belief.  But  so  far  are  these  two  from  being  coinci- 
dent, that  even  this  connexion  between  them,  though  com- 

♦  The  author  of  "  A  Treatise  of  Human  Nature,"  in  3  vols, 
t  If  one  is  desirous  to  see  a  refutation  of  this  principle,  let  him  consult 
Reid's  Inquiry,  ch.  ii.,  sect.  v. 


96  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

mon,  is  not  necessary.  Vivacity  of  ideas  is  not  always  ac- 
c-ompaiiied  wiih  faith,  nor  is  faith  always  able  to  produce 
vivacity.  The  ideas  raised  in  my  mind  l)y  the  CEdipus  Ty- 
raiinus  of  Sophocles,  or  the  Lear  of  Shakspeare,  are  incom- 
parably more  livelj'  than  those  excited  by  a  cold  biit  failhfi:' 
historiographer.  Yet  I  may  give  full  credit  to  the  languid 
narrativi;  of  the  latter,  though  1  believe  not  a  single  sentence 
in  those  tragedies.  If  a  proof  were  asked  of  the  greater  vi- 
vacity in  the  one  case  than  in  the  other  (which,  by-the-way, 
must  be  finally  determined  by  consciousness),  let  these  ef- 
fects serve  for  arguments.  The  ideas  of  the  poet  give  greater 
pleasure,  command  closer  attention,  operate  more  strongly 
on  the  passions,  and  are  longer  remembered.  If  these  be  not 
sufficient  evidences  of  greater  vivacity,  I  own  1  have  no  ap- 
prehension of  the  meaning  which  that  author  affixes  to  the 
term.  The  connexion,  however,  that  generally  subsisteth 
between  vivacity  and  belief  will  appear  less  marvellous,  if 
we  reflect  that  there  is  not  so  great  a  difference  between  ar- 
gument and  illustration  as  is  usually  imagined.  The  same 
ingenious  writer  says,  concerning  moral  reasoning,  that  it  is 
but  a  kind  of  comparison.  The  truth  of  this  assertion  any 
one  will  easily  be  convinced  of  who  considers  the  preceding 
observations  on  that  subject. 

Where,  then,  lies  the  difference  between  addressing  the 
judgment  and  addressing  the  fancy]  and  what  hath  given 
rise  to  the  distinction  between  ratiocination  and  imagery  ] 
The  following  observations  will  serve  for  an  answer  to  this 
query.  It  is  evident  that,  though  the  mind  receives  a  con- 
siderable pleasiu'e  from  the  discovery  of  resemblance,  no 
pleasure  is  received  when  the  resemblance  is  of  such  a  na- 
ture as  is  familiar  to  everybody.  Such  are  those  resem- 
blances which  result  from  the  specific  and  generic  qualities 
of  ordinary  objects.  What  gives  the  principal  delight  to  the 
imagination  is  the  exhibition  of  a  strong  likeness,  which  es- 
capes the  notice  of  tlie  generality  of  people.  The  similitude 
of  man  to  man,  eagle  to  eagle,  sea  to  sea,  or,  in  brief,  of  one 
individual  to  another  individual  of  the  same  species,  afiects 
not  the  fancy  in  the  least.  What  poet  would  ever  think  of 
comparing  a  combat  between  two  of  his  heroes  to  a  combat 
between  other  two  1  Yet  nowhere  else  will  he  find  so  strong 
a  resemblance.  Indeed,  to  the  faculty  of  imagi'iation  th's 
resemblance  lippears  rather  under  the  notion  of  identity  al- 
though it  be  the  foundation  of  the  strongest  reasoning  from 
experience.  Again,  the  similarity  of  one  species  to  another 
of  the  same  genus,  as  of  the  lion  to  the  tiger,  of  the  alder  to 
the  oak,  though  this,  too,  be  a  considerable  fund  of  argu- 
mentiilion,  hardly  strikes  the  fancy  more  than  tlie  preceding, 
inasmuch  as  the  generical  properties,  whereof  every  species 
participaies,  are  also  obvious.     Cut  if  from  the  experimental 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    01'    RHETORIC.  97 

reasoning  we  descend  to  the  analogical,  wo  may  be  said  to 
come  upon  a  common  to  which  reason  and  foncy  have  an 
equal  claim.  "A  comparison,"  says  Quintilian,*  "hath  al- 
most the  eftect  of  an  example."  But  what  arc  rhetorical 
comparisons,  when  brought  to  illustrate  any  point  inculcated 
on  the  hearers  (what  are  they,  I  say),  but  arguments  from 
analogy  1  In  proof  of  this,  let  us  borrow  an  instance  from 
the  forementioned  rhetorician  :  "  Would  you  be  convinced  of 
the  necessity  of  education  for  the  mind,  consider  of  what 
importance  culture  is  to  the  ground :  the  field  which,  culti- 
vated, produceth  a  plentiful  crop  of  useful  fruits,  if  neglected, 
will  be  overrun  with  briers,  ai«d  brambles,  and  other  useless 
or  noxious  weeds."!  It  would  be  no  better  than  trifling  to 
point  out  the  argument  couched  in  this  passage.  Now  if 
comparison,  which  is  the  chief,  hath  so  great  an  influence 
upon  conviction,  it  is  no  wonder  that  all  those  ot?ier  oratori- 
cal tropes  and  figures  addressed  to  the  imagination,  which 
are  more  or  less  nearly  related  to  comparison,  should  derive 
hence  both  light  and  efficacy.f  Even  antithesis  implies  com- 
parison. Simile  is  a  comparison  in  epitome,^  Metaphor  is 
an  allegory  in  miniature.  Allegory  and  prosopeia  are  com- 
parisons conveyed  under  a  particular  form. 

SECTION  III. 

MEN    CONSIDKRED    AS    ENDOV/ED    WIT^    MEMORY. 

Farther,  vivid  ideas  are  not  only  niore  powerful  than  Ian-, 
guid  ideas  in  commanding  and  preserving  attention,  they  are 
not  only  more  efficacious  in  producing  conviction,  but  they 
are  also  more  easily  retained.  Those  several  powers,  un- 
derstanding, imagination,  memory,  and  passion,  are  mutually 
subservient.  That  it  is  necessaiy  for  the  orator  to  engage 
the  help  of  memory,  will  appear  from  many  reasons,  partic- 
ularly from  what  was  remarked  above,  on  the  fourth  dilfer- 
ence  between  moral  reasoning  and  demonstrative.])  It  was 
there  observed,  that  in  the  former  the  credibility  of  the  fact 
is  the  sum  of  the  evidence  of  all  the  arguments,  often  inde- 
pendent of  one  another,  brough*^  to  support  it.  And  though 
it  was  shown  (hat  demonstration  itself,  without  the  assistance 
of  this  faculty,  could  never  produce  conviction,  yet  here  it 

♦  InsU<;-,  lib.  v.,  cap,  xi.    "  Proximas  exempli  vires  habet  similitudo." 

•f-  In*tit.,  lib.  v.,  cap.  xi.  "  Ut  si  animum  dicas  excolendum,  similitudine 
utari?  terrse,  quae  iieglecta  sentes  atque  dumos,  exculta  tructus  creat." 

J  •' Praeterea,  nescio  quomodo  etiam  credit  facilius.quce  audienti  jucunda 
sunt,  et  voluptate  ad  fidera  ducitur." — Quint.,  1.  iv.,  c.  ii. 

(}  Simile  and  :::juipanson  are  in  common  language  frequently  confounded. 
The  difference  is  lUis  :  Simile  is  no  more  than  a  comparison  suggested  in  a 
word  or  two  ;  as,  He  fought  like  a  lion  ;  His  face  shone  as  the  sun.  Com- 
parison is  a  simile  cncumstantiated  and  included  in  one  or  more  separate 
sentences.  II  Chap,  v.,  sect,  ii.,  pt.  1. 


98  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

must  be  owned  that  the  natural  connexion  of  the  several 
links  in  tlio  chain  renders  the  remembrance  easier.  Now, 
as  nothing  can  operate  on  the  mind  which  is  not  in  some 
respect  present  to  it,  care  must  be  taken  by  the  orator  that, 
in  introducing  new  topics,  the  vestiges  left  by  the  former  on 
the  minds  of  the  hearers  may  not  be  effaced.  It  is  the  sense 
of  tliis  necessity  which  hath  given  rise  to  the  rules  of  com- 
position. 

Some  will  perhaps  consider  it  as  irregular  that  I  speak 
here  of  addressing  the  memory,  of  which  no  mention  at  all 
was  made  in  the  first  chapter,  wherein  I  considered  the  dif- 
ferent forms  of  eloquence,  classing  them  by  the  different  fac- 
ulties of  the  mind  addressed.  But  this  apparent  irregularity 
will  vanish  when  it  is  observed  that,  witii  regard  to  the  fac- 
ulties there  mentioned,  each  of  them  may  not  only  be  the  di- 
rect, but  even  the  ultimate  object  of  what  is  spoken.  The 
whole  scope  may  be  at  one  time  to  inform  or  convince  the 
understanding,  at  another  to  delight  the  imagination,  at  a 
third  to  agitate  the  passions,  and  at  a  fourth  to  determine  the 
will.  But  it  is  never  the  ultimate  end  of  speaking  to  be  re- 
membered when  what  is  spoken  tends  neither  to  instruct,  to 
please,  to  move,  nor  to  persuade.  This,  therefore,  is  of  ne- 
cessity no  more  on  any  occasion  than  a  subordinate  end,  or, 
which  is  precisely  the  same  thing,  the  means  to  some  farther 
end  ;  and  as  sucti.it  is  more  or  less  necessary  on  every  occa- 
sion. The  speaker's  attention  to  this  subserviency  of  mem- 
ory is  always  so  much  the  more  requisite,  the  greater  the 
difficulty  of  remembrance  is,  and  the  more  ?mportant  the  be- 
ing remembered  is  to  the  attainment  of  the  ultimate  end. 
On  both  accounts,  it  is  of  more  consequence  in  those  dis- 
courses whose  aim  is  either  instruction  or  persuasion,  than 
in  those  whose  design  is  solely  to  please  the  fancy  or  to 
move  the  passions.  And  if  there  are  any  which  answer  none 
of  those  ends,  it  were  better  to  learn  to  forget  them  than  to 
teach  the  method  of  making  them  be  retained. 

The  author  of  the  treatise  above  ^^uoted  hath  divided  the 
principles  of  association  in  ideas  into  resemblance,  contigu- 
ity, and  causation.  I  do  not  here  inquire  inio  all  the  defects 
of  this  enumeration,  but  only  observe,  that  ev°u  on  his  own 
system,  order  both  in  space  and  time  ought  to  have  been  in- 
cluded. It  appears  at  least  to  have  an  equal  title  ^vith  caus- 
ation, which,  according  to  him,  is  but  a  particular  modification 
and  combination  of  the  other  two.  Causation,  considered  as 
an  associating  principle,  is,  in  his  theory,  no  more  than  the 
contiguous  succession  of  two  ideas,  which  is  more  deeply  Im- 
printed on  the  mind  by  its  experience  of  a  similar  contigniiy 
and  succession  of  the  impressions  from  which  they  are  cop- 
ied. This,  therefore,  is  the  result  of  resemblance  and  vicin- 
ity united.     Order  in  place  is  likewise  a  mode  of  vicinity 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RIIKTORIC.  Ofl 

where  this  last  tie  is  streng-thened  by  the  reguhirily  and  sim- 
plicity of  figure,  which  qualities  arise  solely  from  the  resem- 
blance of  the  corresponding  parts  of  the  figure,  or  the  parta 
similarly  situated.  Regular  figures,  besides  the  advantages 
which  they  derive  from  simplicity  and  uniformity,  have  this 
also,  that  they  are  more,  familiar  to  the  mind  than  irregular 
figures,  and  are  therefore  more  easily  conceived.  Hence  the 
influence  which  order  in  place  hath  upon  the  memory.  It 
any  person  question  this  influence,  let  him  but  reflect  how 
much  easier  it  is  to  remember  a  considerable  number  of  per- 
sons whom  one  hath  seen  ranged  on  benches  or  chairs  round 
a  hall,  than  the  same  number  seen  standing  promiscuously  in 
a  crowd  ;  and  how  natural  it  is  for  assisting  the  memory  in 
recollecting  the  persons,  to  recur  to  the  order  wherein  they 
w*re  placed. 

As  to  order  in  time,  which  in  composition  is  properly  styled 
Method,  it  consisteth  principally  in  connecting  the  parts  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  give  vicinity  to  things  in  the  discourse 
which  have  an  affinity ;  that  is,  resemblance,  causality,'  or 
other  relation  in  nature  ;  and  thus  making  their  customary 
association  and  resemblance,  as  in  the  former  case,  co-oper- 
ate with  their  contiguity  in  duration,  or  immediate  succes- 
sion in  the  delivery.  The  utility  of  method  for  aiding  tho 
memory  all  the  world  knows.  But  besides  this,  there  are 
some  parts  of  the  discourse,  as  well  as  figures  of  .speech,  pe- 
culiarly adapted  to  this  end.  Such  a-re  the  division  of  the 
subject,  the  rhetorical  repetitions  of  every  kind,  the  dilTcrent 
modes  of  transition  and  recapitulation. 

SECTION  IV. 

MEN    CONSIDERED    AS    ENDOWED    WITH    PASSIONS. 

To  conclude  :  when  persuasion  is  the  end,  passion  also 
must  be  engaged.  If  it  is  fancy  which  bestows  brilliancy  on' 
our  ideas,  if  it  is  memory  which  gives  them  stability,  pas- 
sion doth  more  :  it  animates  them.  Hence  they  derive  spirit 
and  energy.  To  say  that  it  is  possible  to  persuade  without 
speaking  to  the  passions,  is  but,  at  best,  a  kind  of  specious 
nonsense.  The  coolest  reasoner  always,  in  persuading,  ad- 
dresseth  himself  to  the  passions  some  way  or  other.  This 
he  cannot  avoid  doing  if  he  speak  to  the  purpose.  To  make 
me  believe,  it  is  enough  to  show  me  that  things  are  so  ;  to 
make  me  act,  it  is  necessary  to  .show  me  that  the  action  will 
answer  some  end.  That  can  never  be  an  end  to  me  which 
gratifies  no  passion  or  affection  in  my  nature.  You  assure 
me,  "It  is  for  my  honour."  Now  you  solicit  my  pride,  wiih- 
out  which  I  had  never  been  able  to  understand  the  word. 
You  say,  "  It  is  for  rny  interest."  Now  you  bespeak  my 
self-love.     "  It  is  for  the  public  good."     Now  you  ro'ise  m> 


100  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

patriotism.  "  It  will  relieve  the  miserable."  Now  you  touch 
my  pity.  So  far,  therefore,  is  it  from  being  an  unfair  method 
of  persuasion  to  move  the  passions,  that  there  is  no  persua- 
sion without  moving  them. 

But  if  so  much  depend  on  passion,  where  is  the  scope  for 
argument  1  Before  I  answer  this  question,  let  it  be  observed, 
that,  in  order  to  persuade,  there  are  two  things  which  must 
be  carefully  studied  by  the  orator.  The  first  is,  to  excite 
some  desire  or  passion  in  the  hearers ;  the  second  is,  to  sat- 
isfy their  judgment  that  there  is  a  connexion  between  the  ac- 
tion to  which  he  would  persuade  them,  and  the  gratification 
of  the  desire  or  passion  which  he  excites.  This  is  the  anal- 
ysis of  persuasion.  The  former  is  eff'ected  by  communica- 
ting lively  and  glowing  ideas  of  the  object ;  the  latter,  unless 
so  evident  of  itself  as  to  supersede  the  necessity,  by  present- 
ing the  best  and  most  forcible  arguments  which  the  nature  of 
the  subject  admits.  In  the  oi;e  lies  the  pathetic,  in  the  other 
the  argumentative.  These,  incorporated  together  (as  was  ob- 
served in  the  first  chapter),  constitute  that  vehemence  of  con- 
tention to  which  the  greatest  exploits  of  eloquence  ought 
doubtless  to  be  ascribed.  Here,  then,  is  the  principal  scope 
for  argument,  but  not  the  only  scope,  as  will  appear  in  the 
sequel.  When  the  first  end  alone  is  attained,  the  pathetic 
without  the  rational,  the  passions  are  indeed  roused  from  a 
disagreeable  langour  by  the  help  of  the  imagination,  and  the 
mind  is  thrown  into  a  state  which,  though  accompanied  with 
some  painful  emotions,  rarely  fails,  upon  the  whole,  to  affect 
it  with  pleasure.  But  if  the  hearers  are  judicious,  no  practi- 
cal effect  is  produced.  They  cannot,  by  such  declamation, 
be  influenced  to  a  particular  action,  because  not  convinced 
that  that  action  will  conduce  to  the  gratifying  of  the  passion 
raised.  Your  eloquence  hath  fired  my  ambition,  and  makes 
me  burn  with  public  zeal.  The  consequence  is,  there  is  no- 
thing which  at  present  I  would  not  attempt  for  the  sake  of 
fame,  and  the  interest  of  my  country.  You  advise  me  to 
such  a  conduct,  but  you  have  not  shown  me  how  that  can 
contribute  to  gratify  either  passion.  Satisfy  me  in  this,  and 
I  am  instantly  at  your  command.  Indeed,  when  the  hearers 
are  rude  and  ignorant,  nothing  more  is  necessary  in  the  speak 
er  than  to  inflame  their  passions.  They  will  not  require  that 
the  coimexion  between  the  conduct  he  urges  and  the  end  pro 
posed  be  evinced  to  them.  His  word  will  satisfy.  And  there 
fore  bold  affirmations  are  made  to  supply  the  place  of  rea- 
sons. Hence  it  is  that  the  rabble  are  ever  the  prey  of  quacks 
and  impudent  pretenders  of  every  denomination. 

On  the  contrary,  when  the  other  end  alone  is  attained,  the 
rational  without  the  pathetic,  the  speaker  is  as  far  from  his 
purpose  as  before.  You  have  proved  beyond  contradiction 
*hat  acting  thus  is  the  sure  way  to  procure  such  an  object 


THE    PHILOSOI'HY    OF    RHETORIC.  101 

I  perceive  that  your  reasoning  is  conclusive,  but  I  am  not  af- 
fected by  it.  Why  ]  I  have  no  passion  ibr  the  object.  I 
am  indifferent  whetlier  1  procure  it  or  not.  You  have  de- 
monstrated that  such  a  slop  will  mortify  my  enemy.  I  be- 
lieve it ;  but  I  have  no  resentment,  and  v.ill  not  trouble  my- 
self to  give  pain  to  another.  Yonr  arguments  evince  that  it 
would  gratify  my  vanity.  But  I  prefer  my  ease.  Thus  pas- 
sion is  the  mover  to  action,  reason  is  the  guide.  Good  is  the 
object  of  the  will,  truth  is  the  object  of  the  understanding.* 

*  Several  causes  have  contributed  to  involve  this  subject  in  confusion. 
One  is  the  ambiguity  and  im[)crfection  of  languan;e.  Motives  are  often 
calleil  arguments,  and  both  mulives  and  arguments  are  promiscuously  sty- 
led reasons.  Another  is,  the  idle  disputes  that  have  arisen  among  philoso- 
phers concerning  the  nature  of  good,  both  physical  and  moral.  "Truth 
and  good  are  one,"  says  the  author  of  the  Pleasures  of  Imagination,  an  au- 
thor whose  poetical  merit  will  not  be  questioned  by  persons  of  taste.  The 
expression  might  have  been  passed  in  the  poet,  whose  right  to  the  use  of 
catackresis,  one  of  the  many  privileges  comprehended  under  the  name  poetic 
license,  prescription  hath  iuUy  established.  But  by  philosophizing  on  this 
passage  in  his  notes,  he  warrants  us  to  canvass  his  reasoning,  for  no  such 
privilege  hath  as  yet  been  conceded  to  philosophers.  Indeed,  in  attempting 
to  illustrate,  he  has,  I  think,  confuted  it,  or,  to  speak  more  properly,  shown 
it  to  have  no  meaning.  He  mentions  two  opinions  concerning  the  connex- 
ion of  truth  and  beauty,  which  is  one  species  of  good.  "  Some  philoso- 
phers," says  he,  "assert  an  independent  and  invariable  law  in  Nature,  in 
consequence  of  which  all  rational  beings  must  alike  perceive  beauty  in  some 
certain  proportions,  and  deformity  in  the  contrart/."  Now,  though  I  do  not 
conceive  what  is  meant  either  by  independent  laru  or  by  contrary  proportions, 
this,  if  it  proves  anything,  proves  as  clearly  that  deformity  and  truth  are 
one,  as  that  beauty  and  truth  are  one ;  for  those  contrary  proportions  are 
surely  as  much  proportions,  or,  if  you  will,  as  true  proportions,  as  some  cer- 
tain proportions  are.  Accordingly,  if,  in  the  conclusion  deduced,  you  put 
the  word  deformity  instead  of  beauty,  and  the  word  beauty  instead  of  defor- 
mity, the  sense  will  be  equally  complete.  "Others,"  he  adds,  "  there  are, 
who  believe  beauty  to  be  merely  a  relative  and  arbitrary  thing  ;  and  that  it 
is  not  impossible,  m  a  physical  sense,  that  two  beings  of  equal  capacities 
for  truth  should  perceive,  one  of  them  beauty,  and  the  other  deformity,  in 
the  same  relations.  And  upon  this  supposition,  by  that  truth  which  is  al 
ways  connected  with  beauty,  nothing  more  can  be  meant  than  the  conform- 
ity of  any  object  to  those  proportions,  upon  which,  after  careful  e.xamina 
tion,  the  beauty  of  that  species  is  found  to  depend."  This  opinion,  if  I  am 
able  to  comprehend  it,  differs  only  in  one  point  from  the  preceding.  It  sup 
poses  the  standard  or  law  of  beauty  not  invariable  and  universal.  It  is  lia- 
ble to  the  same  objection,  and  that  rather  more  glaringly  ;  for  if  the  same 
relations  must  be  always  equally  true  relations,  deformity  is  as  really  one 
with  truth  as  beauty  is,  since  the  very  same  relations  can  exhibit  both  ap- 
pearances. In  short,  no  hypothesis  hitherto  invented  hath  shown  that  by 
means  of  the  discursive  faculty,  without  the  aid  of  any  other  mental  power, 
we  could  ever  obtain  a  notion  of  either  the  beautiful  or  the  good  ;  and  till 
this  be  shown,  nothing  is  shown  to  the  purpose.  The  author  aforesaid,  fat 
from  attempting  this,  proceeds  on  the  supposition  that  we  first  perceive 
beauty,  he  says  not  how,  and  then,  having  by  a  careful  examination  dis- 
covered the  proportions  which  gave  riseto  the  perception,  denominnte  them 
true ;  so  that  all  those  elaborate  disquisitions  with  which  we  are  amused 
amount  only  to  a  few  insignificant  identical  propositions  very  improperly 
expressed.  For  out  of  a  vast  profusion  of  learned  phrases,  this  is  all  the 
informatici  we  can  pick,  that  "  Beauty  is — truly  boautv,"  and  that  "Goo(l 

19 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


102  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

It  may  be  thought  that  when  Ihe  motive  is  the  equity,  the 
generosity,  or  the  intrinsic  merit  of  the  action  recommended, 
argument  maybe  employed  to  evince  the  reasonableness  of 
the  end,  as  well  as  the  litness  of  the  means.  But  this  way 
of  speaking  suits  better  the  popular  dialect  than  the  philo- 
sophical. The  term  reasonableness,  when  used  in  this  man- 
ner, means  nothing  but  the  goodness,  the  amiableness,  or 
moral  excellence.  If,  therefore,  the  hearer  hath  no  love  of 
justice,  no  benevolence,  no  regard  to  right,  although  he  were 
endowed  with  the  perspicacity  of  a  cherub,  your  harangue 
could  never  have  any  inlluence  on  his  mind.  The  reason  is, 
when  you  speak  of  the  fitness  of  the  means,  you  address 
yourself  only  to  the  head;  when  you  speak  of  the  goodness 
of  the  end,  you  address  yourself  to  the  heart,  of  which  we 
supposed  him  destitute.  Are  we,  then,  to  class  the  virtues 
among  the  passions  1  By  no  means.  But  without  entering 
into  a  discussion  of  the  difference,  which  would  be  foreign  to 
our  purpose,  let  it  suffice  to  observe,  that  they  have  this  in 
common  with  passion.  They  necessarily  imply  an  habitual 
propensity  to  a  certain  species  of  conduct,  an  habitual  aver- 
sion to  the  contrary ;  a  veneration  for  such  a  character,  an 
abhorrence  of  such  another.     They  are,  therefore,  though 

is — truly  good."  "  Moral  good,"  says  a  celebrated  writer,  "  consisteth  in 
fiiii.fss."  From  this  account,  any  person  would  at  first  really  conclude  that 
morals,  according  to  him,  are  not  concerned  in  the  ends  which  we  pursue, 
but  solely  in  the  choice  of  means  for  attaining  our  ends ;  that  if  this  choice 
be  judicious,  the  conduct  is  moral ;  if  injudicious,  the  contrary.  But  this 
truly  pious  author  is  far  from  admitting  such  an  interpretation  of  his  words 
Fitness,  in  his  sense,  hath  no  relation  to  a  farther  end.  It  is  an  absolute 
fitness,  a  fitness  in  itself.  M^e  are  obliged  to  ask.  What,  then,  is  that  fit- 
ness which  you  call  absolute  ?  For  the  application  of  the  word  in  every  other 
case  invariably  implying  the  proper  direction  of  means  to  an  end,  far  from 
affordmg  light  to  the  meaning  it  has  here,  tends  directly  to  mislead  us. 
The  only  answer,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  that  hath  ever  been  given  to  this 
question,  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  this,  "  That  alone  is  absolutely  fit 
which  is  morally  good  ;"  so  that  in  saying  moral  good  consisteth  in  fitness, 
no  more  is  meant  than  that  it  consisteth  in  moral  good.  Another  moralist 
appears  who  hath  made  a  most  wonderful  discovery.  It  is,  that  there  is 
not  a  vice  in  the  world  but  lying,  and  that  acting  virtuously  in  any  situa- 
tion is  but  one  way  or  other  of  telling  truth.  When  this  curious  theory 
comes  to  be  explained,  we  find  the  practical  lie  results  solely  from  acting 
contrary  to  what  those  moral  sentiments  dictate,  which,  ipstead  of  dedu- 
cing, he  everyvi'here  presupposeth  to  be  known  and  acknowledged  by  us. 
Thus  he  reasons  perpetually  in  a  circle,  and  without  advancing  a  single 
step  beyond  it,  makes  the  same  things  both  causes  and  effects  reciprocally. 
Conduct  appears  to  be  false  for  no  other  reason  but  because  it  is  immoral, 
and  immoral  for  no  other  reason  but  because  it  is  false.  Such  philosophy 
would  not  have  been  unworthy  those  profound  ontologists  who  have  blessed 
the  world  with  the  discovery  that  "  One  being  is  but  otip  being,"  that  "A 
being  is  truly  a  being,"  and  that  "  Every  being  has  all  the  properties  that  it 
has,"  and  who,  to  the  unspeakable  increase  of  useful  knowledge,  have  de- 
nominated these  the  general  attributes  of  being,  and  distinguished  them  by 
the  titles  unity,  truth,  and  goodness  This,  if  it  be  anything,  is  the  very  sub- 
iinate  of  science. 


THE    rillLOSOPIIY   or    RIinTORIC.  103 

not  passions,  so  closely  related  to  tlieni,  that  they  are  prop- 
erly considered  as  motives  to  action,  bein":  equally  capable 
of  giving  an  impulse  to  the  will.  The  dillerence  is  akin  to 
that,  if  not  the  same,  which  rhetoricians  observe  between 
pathos  and  e//;o5,  passion  and  disposition.*  Accordingly,  what 
is  addressed  solely  to  the  moral  powers  of  the  mind,  is  not 
so  properly  denominated  the  pathetic  as  the  sentimental.  The 
terra,  I  own,  is  rather  modern,  but  is  nevertheless  convenient, 
as  it  fills  a  vacant  room,  and  doth  not,  like  most  of  our  new- 
fangled words,  justle  out  older  and  wortheir  occupants,  to  the 
no  small  detriment  of  tlie  language.  It  occupies,  so  to  speak, 
the  middle  place  between  the  pathetic  and  that  which  is  ad- 
dressed to  the  imagination,  and  partakes  of  both,  adding  to 
the  warmth  of  the  former  the  grace  and  attractions  of  the 
latter. 

Now  the  principal  questions  on  this  subject  are  these  two  : 
How  is  a  passion  or  disposition  that  is  favourable  to  the  de- 
sign of  the  orator  to  be  excited  in  the  hearers'!  How  is  an 
unfavourable  passion  or  disposition  to  be  calmed  1  As  to  the 
first,  it  was  said  already  in  general,  that  passion  must  be 
awakened  by  communicating  lively  ideas  of  the  objec?t.  The 
reason  will  be  obvious  from  the  following  remarks  :  A  pas- 
sion is  most  strongly  excited  by  sensation.  The  sight  of 
danger,  immediate  or  near,  instantly  rouseth  fear;  the  feel- 
ing of  an  injury,  and  the  presence  of  the  injnrer,  in  a  moment 
kindle  anger.  Next  to  the  influence  of  sense  is  that  of  mem- 
ory, the  etlect  of  which  upon  passion,  if  the  fact  be  recent, 
and  remembered  distinctly  and  circumstantially,  is  almost 
equal.  Next  to  the  influence  of  memory  is  that  of  imagina- 
tion, by  which  is  here  solely  meant  the  facultj'^of  apprehend- 
ing what  is  neither  perceived  by  the  senses  nor  remembered. 
Now,  as  it  is  this  power  of  which  the  orator  must  chiefly 
avail  himself,  it  is  proper  to  inquire  what  these  circumstances 
are  which  will  make  the  ideas  he  summons  up  in  the  imagi- 
nations of  his  hearers  resemble,  in  lustre  and  steadiness, 
those  of  sensation  and  remembrance  ;  for  the  same  circum- 
stances will  infallibly  make  them  resemble  also  in  their  ef- 
fects ;  that  is,  in  the  influence  they  will  have  upon  the  pas- 
sions and  aff'ections  of  the  heart. 

SECTION  V. 

rHE   CIRCUMSTANCES   THAT   ARE    CHIEFLY  INSTRUMENTAL  IN  OPERATINO 
ON  THE  PASSIONS. 

These  are  perhaps  all  reducible  to  the  seven  following: 

*  This  seems  to  liave  been  the  sense  which  Quintilian  had  of  the  differ- 
ence between  vaOos  and  JiOos,  when  he  gave  amr.r  for  ;ui  cxHinple  of  the 
<irst,  and  charitaxo(  ihe  second.  The  word  tjOo;  is  also  sometimes  used  fo» 
moral  sentiment. — Just.,  1.  vi.,  c.  ii. 


104  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    UHETORIC. 

probability,  plausibility,  importance,  proximity  of  time,  con- 
nexion of  place,  relation  of  the  actors  or  sufferers  to  the  hear 
ers  or  speaker,  interest  of  the  hearers  or  speaker  hi  the  con- 
sequences.* 

Part  I.  Probability. 

The  first  is  proiahility.,  which  is  now  considered  only  as  an 
expedient  for  enlivening  passion.  Here  again  there  is  com- 
monly scope  for  argument. f  Probability  results  from  evi- 
dence, and  begets  belief.  Belief  invigorates  our  ideas.  Be- 
lief raised  to  the  highest  becomes  certainty.  Certainty  flows 
either  from  the  force  of  the  evidence,  real  or  apparent,  that 
is  produced ;  or  without  any  evidence  produced  by  the  speak- 
er, from  the  previous  notoriety  of  the  fact.  If  the  fact  be 
notorious,  it  will  not  only  be  superfluous  in  the  speaker  to  at- 
tempt to  prove  it,  but  it  will  be  pernicious  to  his  design. 
The  reason  is  plain.  By  proving,  he  supposeth  it  question- 
able, and  by  supposing,  actually  renders  it  so  to  his  audience  : 
he  brings  them  from  viewing  it  in  the  stronger  light  of  cer- 
tainty, to  view  it  in  the  weaker  light  of  probability :  in  lieu 
of  sunshine  he  gives  them  twilight.  Of  the  different  means 
and  kinds  of  probation  I  have  spoken  already. 

Part  II.  Plausibility. 

The  second  circumstance  i%  plausibility,  a  thing  totally  dis- 
tinct from  the  former,  as  having  an  effect  upon  the  mind  quite 
independent  of  faith  or  probability.  It  ariseth  chiefly  from 
the  consistency  of  the  narration,  from  its  being  what  is  com- 
monly called  natural  and  feasible.  This  the  French  crit- 
ics have  aptly  enough  denominated  in  their  language  vrai- 
semblance,  the  English  critics  more  improperly  in  theirs  prob- 
ability. In  order  to  avoid  the  manifest  ambiguity  there  is  in 
this  apphcation  of  the  word,  it  had  been  better  to  retain  the 
word  verisimilitude,  now  almost  obsolete.  That  there  is  a  re- 
lation between  those  two  qualities  must,  notwithstanding,  be 
admitted.  This,  however,  is  au  additional  reason  for  assign- 
ing them  different  names.  An  homonymous  term,  whose 
differing  significations  have  no  affinity  to  one  another,  is  very 
seldom  liable  to  be  misunderstood. 

*  I  am  not  quite  positive  as  to  the  accuracy  of  tbis£numeration,  and  shall 
therefore  freely  permit  my  learned  and  ingenious  friend,  Dr.  Keid,  to  annex 
the  et  c(Btera  he  proposes  in  such  cases,  in  order  to  supply  all  defects.  See 
Sketches  of  the  History  of  Man.  b.  iii.,  sk.  i.,  Appendix,  c.  ii.,  sect.  ii. 

t  In  the  judiciary  orations  of  the  ancients,  this  was  the  principal  scope 
for  argument.  That  to  condemn  the  guilty  and  acquit  the  innocent  would 
gratify  their  indignation  against  the  injurious,  and  their  love  of  right  was 
too  manifest  to.  require  a  proof.  The  i'act  that  there  was  guilt  in  the  pris- 
oner, or  tliat  there  was  innocence,  did  require  it.  It  was  otherwise  in  de- 
liberative orations,  as  the  conduct  recommended  was  more  remotely  con- 
nected with  the  emotions  raised. 


Tl.K    PHII.OSOrHY    f>F    RIIIVI'ORIC.  105 

But  as  to  the  nature  and  extent  of  this  relntion,  let  it  bn 
observed,  that  the  want  of  phiusibility  inipUes  an  internal  im- 
probabilitj^  which  it  will  require  the  stronger  external  evi- 
dence to  surmount.  Nevertheless,  the  implausibility  may  be 
surmounted  by  such  evidence,  and  we  may  be  fully  ascer- 
tained of  wliat  is  in  itself  exceedingly  implausible.  Implau- 
sibility is,  in  a  certain  degree,  positive  evidence  against  a 
narrative,  whereas  plausibility  implies  no  positive  evidence 
for  it.  We  know  liiat  fiction  may  be  as  plausible  as  truth. 
A  narration  may  be  possessed  of  this  quality  in  the  highest 
degree,  which  we  not  only  regard  as  improbable,  but  know 
to  be  false.  Probability  is  a  light  darted  on  the  object  from 
the  proofs,  which  for  this  reason  are  pertinently  enough  styled 
evidence.  Plausibility  is  a  native  lustre  issuing  directly  from 
the  object.  The  former  is  the  aim  of  the  historian,  the  latter 
of  the  poet.  That  every  one  may  be  satisfied  that  the  sec- 
ond is  generally  not  inferior  to  the  first  in  its  influence  on  the 
mind,  we  need  but  appeal  to  the  effects  of  tragedy,  of  epic, 
and  even  of  romance,  which,  in  its  principal  characters,  par- 
ticipates of  the  nature  of  poesy,  though  written  in  prose. 

It  deserves,  however,  to  be  remarked,  that  though  plausi- 
bility alone  hath  often  greater  efficacy  in  rousing  the  passions 
than  probability  or  even  certainty,  yet  in  anj'^  species  of  com- 
position wherein  truth,  or  at  least  probability,  is  expected, 
the  mind  quickly  nauseates  the  most  plausible  tale  which  is 
unsupported  by  proper  arguments.  For  this  reason,  it  is  the 
business  of  the  orator,  as  much  as  his  subject  will  permit,  to 
avail  himself  of  both  qualities.  There  is  one  case,  and  but 
one,  in  which  plausibility  itself  may  be  dispensed  with  ;  that 
is,  when  the  fact  is  so  incontestable  that  it  is  impossible  to 
entertain  a  doubt  of  it ;  for  when  implausibility  is  incapable 
of  impairing  belief,  it  hath  sometimes,  especially  in  forensic 
causes,  even  a  good  effect.  By  presenting  us  with  something 
monstrous  in  its  kind,  it  raises  astonishment,  and  thereby 
heightens  every  passion  which  the  narrative  is  fitted  to  excite. 

But  to  return  to  the  explication  of  this  quality.  When  I 
explained  the  nature  of  experience,  I  showed  that  it  consist- 
eth  of  all  the  general  truths  collected  from  particular  facts 
remembered ;  the  mind  forming  to  itself  often  insensibly,  and, 
as  it  were,  mechanically,  certain  maxims,  from  comparing, 
or,  rather,  associating  the  similar  circumstances  of  different 
incidents.*  Hence  it  is  that  when  a  number  of  ideas  relating 
to  any  fact  or  event  are  successfully  introduced  into  my  mind 
by  a  speaker,  if  the  train  he  deduceth  coincide  with  the  gen- 
eral current  of  my  experience,  if  in  nothing  it  thwart  tliose 
conclusions  and  anticipations  which  are  become  habitual  to 
me.  my  mind  accompanies  him  with  facility,  glides  along 

*  Chap,  r.,  sect,  ii.,  part  \L 


106  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    IIHETORIC. 

from  one  idea  to  another,  and  admits  the  wholo  with  pleas- 
ure. If,  on  the  contrarj-,  the  train  he  introduceth  run  coun- 
ter to  the  current  of  my  experience,  if  in  many  things  it 
shock  those  conclusions  and  anticipations  which  are  become 
habitual  to  me,  my  mind  attends  him  with  difficulty,  suffers 
a  sort  of  violence  in  passing  from  one  idea  to  another,  and 
rejects  the  whole  with  disdain  : 

'•  For  while  upon  such  monstrous  scenes  we  gaze. 
They  shock  our  faith,  our  indignation  raise. "t — Francis. 

In  the  former  case  I  pronounce  the  narrative  natural  and 
credible ;  in  the  latter  I  say  it  is  unnatural  and  incredible,  if 
not  impossible ;  and  which  is  particularly  expressive  of  the 
diflerent  appearances  in  respect  of  connexioji  made  by  the 
ideas  in  my  mind,  the  one  tale  I  call  coherent,  the  otiier  inco- 
herent. When,  therefore,  the  orator  can  obtain  no  direct  aid 
from  the  memory  of  his  hearers,  which  is  rarely  to  be  obtain- 
ed, he  must,  for  the  sake  of  brightening,  and  strengthening, 
and,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  use  so  bold  a  metaphor,  cement- 
ing his  ideas,  bespeak  the  assistance  of  experience.  This,  if 
properly  employed,  will  prove  a  potent  ally,  by  adding  the 
grace  of  venshnililude  to  the  whole.  It  is,  therefore,  first  of 
all  requisite  that  the  circumstances  of  the  narration,  and  the 
order  in  which  they  are  exhibited,  be  what  is  commonly  call- 
ed natural,  that  is,  congruous  to  general  experience. 

Where  passion  is  the  end,  it  is  not  a  sufficient  reason  for 
introducing  any  circumstance  that  it  is  natural,  it  must  also 
be  pertinent.  It  is  pertinent  when  either  necessary  for  giv- 
ing a  distinct  and  consistent  apprehension  of  the  object,  at 
least  for  obviating  some  objection  that  may  be  started,  or 
doubt  that  may  be  entertained  concerning  it,  or  when  such  as 
in  its  particular  tendency  promotes  the  general  aim.  All  cir- 
cumstances, however  plausible,  which  serve  merely  for  dec- 
oration, never  fail  to  divert  the  attention,  and  so  become  prej- 
udicial to  the  proposed  influence  on  passion. 

But  I  am  aware  that,  from  the  explication  I  have  given  of 
this  quality,  it  will  be  said  that  I  have  run  into  the  error,  if  it 
be  an  error,  which  I  intended  to  avoid,  and  have  confounded 
it  with  probability,  by  deriving  it  solely  from  the  same  origin, 
experience.  In  answer  to  this,  let  it  be  observed,  that  in 
every  plausible  tale  which  is  ^ansupported  by  external  evi- 
dence, there  will  be  found  throughout  the  whole,  when  duly 
canvassed,  a  mixture  of  possibilities  and  probabilities,  and 
that  not  in  snch  a  manner  as  to  make  one  part  or  incident 
probable,  another  barely  possible,  but  so  blended  as  equally 
to  affect  the  whole,  and  every  member.  Take  the  Iliad  for 
an  example:  That  a  haughty,  choleric. 'andvintJictive-hero, 
such  as  Achilles  is  represented  to  have  been,  should,  upon 

+  "  Guodcunqne  ostendis  mihi  sic,  incredulsu  odi." — Hor.,  De  Arte  I  oet. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  107 

the  public  afTront  and  injury  lie  received  from  .^ganicninon, 
treat  tha*  general  with  indignity,  and  form  a  resoluiion  of 
withdrawHig  his  troops,  remaining  liienceforlh  an  unconcern- 
ed spectator  of  the  calamities  of  iiis  countrymen,  our  experi- 
ence of  the  baleful  induences  of  pride  and  anger  renders  in 
some  degree  probable  :  again,  that  one  of  such  a  character 
as  Agamemnon,  rapacious,  jealous  of  his  pre-eminence  as 
commander-in-chief,  who  envied  the  superior  merit  of  Achil- 
les, and  harboured  resentment  against  him — that  such  a  one, 
I  sajs  on  such  an  occurrence  as  is  related  by  the  poet,  should 
have  given  the  provocation,  will  be  acknowledged  also  to 
have  some  prol)ability.  But  that  there  were  such  person- 
ages, of  such  characters,  in  such  circumstances,  is  merely 
possible.  Here  there  is  a  total  want  of  evidence.  Experi- 
ence is  silent.  Properly,  indeed,  the  case  comes  not  withm 
the  verge  of  its  jurisdiction.  Its  general  conclusions  may 
serve  in  confutation,  but  can  never  serve  in  proof  of  particu- 
lar or  historical  facts.  Sufficient  testimony,  and  that  only, 
will  answer  here.  The  testimony  of  the  poet  in  this  case 
goes  for  nothing.  His  object,  we  know,  is  not  truth,  but  like- 
lihood. Experience,  however,  advances  nothing  against  those 
allegations  of  the  poet,  therefore  we  call  them  possible  ;  it 
can  say  nothing  for  them,  therefore  we  do  not  call  them 
probable.  The  whole,  at  most,  amounts  to  this  :  If  such 
causes  existed,  such  effects  probably  followed.  But  we  have 
no  evidence  of  the  existence  of  the  causes,  therefore  wo  have 
no  evidence  of  the  existence  of  the  effects.  Consequently,  all 
the  probability  implied  in  this  quality  is  a  hypothetical  prob- 
ability, which  is,  in  effect,  none  at  all.  It  is  an  axiom  among 
dialecticians  in  relation  to  the  syllogistic  art,  that  the  conclu- 
sion always  follows  the  weaker  of  the  premises.  To  apply 
this  to  the  present  purpose,  an  application  not  illicit,  though 
unusual':  if  one  of  the  premises,  suppose  the  major,  contain 
an  affirmation  that  is  barely  possible,  the  minor  one  tiiat  is 
probable,  possibility  only  can  be  deduced  in  the  conclusion. 

These  two  qualities,  therefore,  Prodability  and  Plausi- 
bility (if  I  may  be  indulged  a  little  in  the  allegoric  style),  I 
shall  call  Sister-graces,  daughters  of  the  same  father.  Expe- 
rience, who  is  the  progeny  of  Memory,  the  first-born  and  heir 
of  Sense.  'I'hese  daughters  Experience  had  by  different  moth- 
ers. The  elder  is  the  offspring  of  Reason,  the  younger  is  the 
child  of  Fancy.  The  elder,  regular  in  her  features,  and  ma- 
jestic both  in  shape  and  mien,  is  admiraby  fitted  for  com- 
manding esteem,  and  even  a  religious  veneration  ;  the  young- 
er, careless,  blooming,  sprightly,  is  entirely  formed  for  cap- 
tivating the  heart  and  engaging  love.  The  conversation  of 
each  is  entertaining  and  instructive,  but  in  different  ways. 
Sages  seem  o  think  that  there  is  more  instruction  to  be  got- 
ten from  the  just  observatioiiiJ  of  the  elder;  almost  all  are 


108  THE    rniLOSOPIlY    of   khktoric. 

agreed  that  there  is  more  entertainment  in  the  lively  sallies 
of  the  j'ounger.  The  principal  companion  and  favourite  of 
the  first  is  Tnilh,  but  whether  Trulh  or  Fiction  share  most  in 
the  favour  of  the  second,  it  were  often  difficult  to  say.  Both 
are  naturally  well  disposed,  and  even  friendly  to  Virtue,  but 
the  elder  is  by  much  the  more  steady  of  the  two  ;  the  young- 
er, though  pei'haps  not  less  capable  of  doing  good,  is  more 
easily  corrupted,  and  hath  sometimes  basely  turned  procu- 
ress to  Vice.  Though  rivals,  they  have  a  sisterly  affection  to 
each  other,  and  love  to  be  together.  The  elder,  sensible  that 
there  are  but  a  few  who  can  for  any  time  relish  her  society 
alone,  is  generally  anxious  that  her  sister  be  of  the  party  ;  the 
younger,  conscious  of  her  own  superior  talents  in  this  re- 
spect, can  more  easily  dispense  with  the  other's  company. 
Nevertheless,  Avhen  she  is  discoursing  on  great  and  serious 
subjects,  in  order  to  add  weight  to  her  words,  she  often  quotes 
her  sister's  testimony,  which  she  knows  is  better  credited 
than  her  own,  a  compliment  that  is  but  sparingly  returned  by 
the  elder.  Each  sister  hath  her  admirers.  Those  of  the 
younger  are  more  numerous,  those  of  the  elder  more  con- 
stant. In  the  retinue  of  the  former,  you  will  find  the  young, 
the  gay,  the  dissipated ;  but  these  are  not  her  only  attendants. 
The  middle-aged,  however,  and  the  thoughtful,  more  com- 
monly attach  themselves  to  the  latter.  To  conclude  :  as 
something  may  be  learned  of  characters  from  the  invectives 
of  enemies  as  well  as  from  the  encomiums  of  friends,  those 
who  have  not  judgment  to  discern  the  good  qualities  of  the 
first-born  accuse  her  of  dulness,  pedantry,  and  stiffness  ; 
those  v/ho  have  not  taste  to  relish  the  charms  of  the  second, 
charge  her  with  folly,  levity,  and  falseness.  Meantime,  it 
appears  to  be  the  universal  opinion  of  the  impartial,  and  such 
as  have  been  best  acquainted  Vv'ith  both,  that  though  the  at- 
Iractives  of  the  younger  be  more  irresistible  at  sight,  the  vir- 
tues of  the  elder  will  be  longer  remembered. 

So  much  for  llie  tv/o  qualities  probahilily  and  plausibility,  on 
which  I  have  expatiated  the  more,  as  they  are  the  principal, 
and,  in  some  respect,  indispensable.  The  others  are  not 
compatible  with  every  subject ;  but  as  they  are  of  real  mo- 
ment, it  is  necessary  to  attend  to  them,  that  so  they  may  not 
be  overlooked  in  cases  wherein  the  subject  requires  that  thev 
be  urged. 

Part  III.  Importance 
The  third  circumstance  I  took  notice  of  was  importance, 
the  appearance  of  which  always  tends,  by  fixing  attention 
more  closely,  to  add  brightness  and  strength  to  the  ideas. 
The  importance  in  moral  subjects  is  analogous  to  the  quan- 
tity of  matter  in  physical  subjects,  as  on  quantity  the  mo- 
ment of  moving  bodies  in  a  great  measure  depends.     An  ac- 


TlIK    JMIILOSOI'IIY    OF    RHKTORIC.  109 

tion  may  derive  importance  from  its  own  nature,  from  tlioso 
concerned  in  it  as  acting  or  suffering,  or  from  its  consequen- 
ces. It  derives  importance  from  its  own  nature  if  it  be  stu- 
pendous in  its  kind,  if  the  result  of  what  is  uncommonly 
great,  whether  good  or  bad,  passion  or  invention,  virtue  or 
.vice,  or  what  in  respect  of  generosity  is  godlike,  what  in 
respect  of  atrocity  is  diabolical ;  it  derives  importance  from 
those  concerned  in  it  when  the  actors  or  the  sufferers  are 
considerable,  on  account  either  of  their  dignity  or  of  their 
number,  or  of  both  ;  it  derives  importance  from  its  conse- 
quences when  these  are  remarkable  in  regard  to  their  great- 
ness, their  multitude,  their  extent,  and  that  either  as  to  the 
many  and  distant  places  affected  by  them,  or  as  to  the  future 
and  remote  periods  to  which  they  may  reach,  or  as  to  both. 
All  the  four  remaining  circumstances  derive  their  efficacy 
purely  from  one  and  the  same  cause,  the  connexion  of  the 
subject  with  those  occupied,  as  speakers  or  hearers,  in  the 
discourse.  Self  is  the  centre  here,  wjiich  hath  a  similar 
power  in  the  ideal  world  to  that  of  the  sun  in  the  material 
world,  in  communicating  both  light  and  heat  to  whatever  is 
within  the  sphere  of  its  activity,  and  in  a  greater  or  less  de- 
gree, according  to  the  nearness  or  remoteness. 

Part  IV.  Proximiiij  of  Time. 
First,  as  to  proMmity  of  lime,  every  one  knows  that  any 
melancholy  incident  is  the  more  affecting  that  it  is  recent. 
Hence  it  is  become  common  with  story-tel'lers,  that  they  may 
make  a  deeper  impression  on  their  hearers,  to  introduce  re- 
marks like  these :  that  the  tale  which  they  relate  is  not  old, 
that  it  happened  but  lately,  or  in  their  own  time,  or  that  they 
are  yet  living  who  had  a  part  in  it  or  were  witnesses  of  it. 
Proximity  of  time  regards  not  only  the  past,  but  the  future. 
An  event  that  will  probably  soon  happen  hath  greater  influ- 
ence upon  us  than  what  will  probably  happen  a  long  time 
hence.  I  have  hitherto  proceeded  on  the  hypothesis  that  the 
orator  rouses  the  passions  of  his  hearers  by  exhibiting  some 
past  transaction  ;  but  we  must  acknowledge  that  passion  may 
be  as  strongly  excited  by  his  reasonings  concerning  an  event 
yet  to  come.  In  the  judiciary  orations  there  is  greater  scope 
for  the  former,  in  the  deliberative  for  the  latter,  though  in 
each  kind  there  may  occasionally  be  scope  for  both.  All  the 
seven  circumstances  enumerated  are  applicable,  and  have 
equal  weight,  whether  they  relate  to  the  future  or  to  the 
past.  The  only  exception  that  I  know  of  is,  that  probability 
and  plausibility  are  scarcely  distinguishable,  when  used  in 
reference  to  events  in  futurity.  As  in  these  there  is  no  ac- 
cess for  testimony,  what  constitutes  the  principal  distinction 
is  quite  excluded.  In  comparing  the  inlluence  of  the  past 
upon  our  minds  with  that  of  the  future,  it  appears,  in  general, 
K 


J  10  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORli;. 

that  if  the  evidence,  the  importance,  and  rhe  distance  of  the 
objects  be  equal,  the  huter  will  be  greater  than  the  former 
The  reason,  J  imagine,  is,  we  are  conscious,  that  as  every 
moment,  the  future,  which  seems  placed  before  us,  is  ap 
proaching,  and  the  past,  which  lies,  as  it  were,  behind,  is  re- 
tiring, our  nearness  or  relation  to  the  one  constantly  increase 
eth  as  the  otlier  decreaseth.  There  is  something  like  attrac- 
tion in  the  first  case,  and  repulsion  in  the  second.  This  tends 
to  interest  us  more  in  the  future  than  in  the  past,  and  conse- 
quently to  the  present  view  aggrandizes  the  one  and  dimin- 
ishes the  other. 

What,  nevertheless,  gives  the  past  a  very  considerable  ad- 
vantage, is  its  being  generally  susceptible  of  much  stronger 
evidence  than  the  future.  The  lights  of  the  mind  arc,  if  I 
may  so  express  myself,  in  an  opposite  situation  to  the  lights 
of  the  body.  These  discover  clearly  the  prospect  lying 
before  us,  but  not  the  ground  we  have  already  passed.  By 
the  memory,  on  the  contrary,  that  great  luminary  of  the  mind, 
things  past  are  exhibited  in  retrospect :  we  have  no  corre- 
spondent faculty  to  irradiate  the  future  ;  and  even  in  matters 
which  I'all  not  within  the  reach  of  our  memory,  past  events 
are  often  clearly  discoverable  by  testimony,  and  by  effects  at 
present  existing,  whereas  we  have  nothing  equivalent  to 
found  our  argumenls  upon  in  reasoning  about  things  to  come. 
It  is  for  this  reason  that  the  future  is  considered  as  the  prov- 
ince of  conjecture  and  uncertainty. 

Part  V.  Connexion  of  Place. 
Local  connexion,  the  fifth  in  the  above  enumeration,  hath  d 
inore  powerful  effect  than  proximity  of  time.  Duration  and 
space  are  two  things  (call  them  entities,  or  attributes,  or  what 
i'ou  please),  in  some  respects  the  most  like,  and  in  some  re- 
spects the  most  unlike  to  one  another.  They  resemble  in 
continuity,  divisibility,  infinity,  in  their  being  deemed  essen- 
tial to  the  existence  of  other  things,  and  in  the  doubts  that 
have  been  raised  as  to  their  having  a  real  or  independent  ex- 
istence of  their  own.  They  differ  in  that  the  latter  is  per- 
manent, whereas  the  very  essence  of  the  former  consisteth 
in  transitoriness ;  the  parts  of  the  one  are  all  successive,  of 
the  other  all  coexistent.  The  greater  portions  of  time  are 
all  distinguished  by  the  memorable  things  which  have  been 
transacted  in  them,  the  smaller  portions  by  the  revolutions 
of  the  heavenly  bodies  ;  the  portions  of  place,  great  and  small 
(for  we  do  not  here  consider  the  regions  of  the  fixed  stars 
and  planets),  are  distinguished  by  the  various  tracts  of  land 
and  water  into  which  the  ear.th  is  divided  and  subdivided; 
the  one  distinction  intelligible,  the  other  .seii.sitfle';  4he  one 
chiefly  known  to  the  inquisitive,  the  other;  in  a  great  meas- 
ure, obvious  to  all.  -    '     ■ 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  Ill 

Hence  perhaps  it  arises  that,  the  latter  is  considererl  as  a 
firmer  ground  of  relation  than  the  former.  Who  is  not  more 
curious  to  know  tlie  notable  transactions  which  have  liapjien- 
ed  in  his  own  country  from  the  earliest  antiquity,  tliaii  to  be 
acquainted  with  tliose  which  have  happened  in  the  remotest 
regions  of  the  globe,  during  the  century  wherein  he  lives' 
It  niustbe  owned,  however,  that  the  former  circumstance  is 
more  frequently  aided  by  that  of  personal  relation  than  the 
latter.  Connexion  of  place  not  only  includes  vicinage,  but 
every  other  local  relation,  such  as  being  in  a  province  under 
the  same  government  with  us,  in  a  state  that  is. in  alliance 
with  us,  in  a  country  well  known  to  us,  and  the  like.  Of  the 
influence  of  this  connexion  in  operating  on  our  passions,  we 
have  daily  proofs.  With  how  much  indifference,  at  least 
with  how  slight  and  transient  emotion,  do  we  read  in  news- 
papers the  accounts  of  the  most  deplorable  accidents  in 
countries  distant  and  unknown  !  How  much,  on  the  con- 
trary, are  w^e  alarmed  and  agitated  on  being  informed  that 
any  such  accident  hath  happened  in  our  neighbourhood,  and 
that  even  though  we  be  totally  unacquainted  with  the  per- 
sons concerned  ? 

Part  VI.  Relalion  to  the  Persons  concerried. 
Still  greater  is  the  power  of  relation  to  the  persons  con- 
cerned, which  was  the  sixth  circumstance  mentioned,  as  this 
tie  is  more  direct  than  that  which  attacheth  us  to  the  scene 
of  action.  It  is  the  persons,  not  the  place,  that  are  the  im- 
mediate objects  of  the  passions  love  or  hatred,  pity  or  anger. 
envy  or  contempt.  Relation  to  the  actors  commonly  produ- 
ces an  effect  contrary  to  that  produced  by  relation  to  the 
sufferers,  the  first  in  extenuation,  the  second  in  aggravation 
of  the  crime  alleged.  The  first  makes  for  the  apologist,  the 
second  for  the  accuser.  This,  I  say,  is  commonly  the  case, 
not  always.  A  remote  relation  to  the  actors,  when  the  of- 
fence is  heinous,  especially  if  the  sufferers  be  more  nearly 
related,  will  sometimes  rather  aggravate  than  extenuate  the 
guilt  in  our  estimation.  But  it  is  impossible,  with  any  precis- 
ion, to  reduce  these  effects  to  rules,  so  much  depending  on 
the  different  tempers  and  sentiments  of  different  audiences. 
Personal  relations  are  of  various  kinds.  Some  have  gener- 
ally greater  influence  than  others  ;  some,  again,  have  greater 
influence  with  one  person,  others  with  another.  They  are 
consanguinity,  affinity,  friendship,  acquaintance,  being  fellow- 
citizens,  countrymen,  of  the  same  surname,  language,  reli 
gion,  occupation,  and  innumerable  others. 

Part  VII.  InfTest  in  tlte  Conseqiifnces. 
But  of  all  the  connexi«e  circumstances,  the  most  powerful 
is  inleresl,  which  is  the  last.     Of  all  relations,  per.sonai  rela- 
tion, by  bringing  the  object  very  near,  most  enlivens  that  sym- 


112  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC 

pathy  which  attacheth  us  to  the  concerns  of  others  ;  interest 
in  the  effects  brings  the  object,  if  1  may  say  so,  into  contact 
with  us,  and  makes  the  mind  cling  to  it  as  a  concern  of  its 
own.  Sympathy  is  but  a  reflected  feeling,  and  therefore,  in 
ordinary  cases,  must  be  weaker  than  the  original.  Though 
the  mirror  be  ever  so  true,  a  lover  will  not  be  obliged  to  it 
for  presenting  him  with  the  figure  of  his  mistress  when  he 
hath  All  opportunity  of  gazing  on  her  person  ;  nor'  will  the 
orator  place  his  chief  confidence  in  the  assistance  of  the  so- 
cial and  sympathetic  affections,  when  he  hath  it  in  his  power 
to  arm  the.  selfish. 

Men  universally,  from  a  just  conception  of  the  difference, 
liave,  when  self  is  concerned,  given  a  different  name  to  what 
seems  originally  the  same  passion  in  a  higher  degree.  Inju- 
ry, to  whomsoever  offered,  is  to  every  man  that  observes  it, 
and  whose  sense  of  right  is  not  debauched  by  vicious  prac- 
tice, the  natural  object  of  indignation.  Indignation  always 
implies  resentment,  or  a  desire  of  retaliating  on  the  injurious 
person,  so  far,  at  least,  as  to  make  him  repent  the  wrong  he 
hath  committed.  This  indignation  in  the  person  injured  is, 
from  our  knowledge  of  mankind,  supposed  to  be,  not,  indeed, 
universally,  but  generally,  so  much  stronger,  that  it  ought  to  be 
distinguished  by  another  appellation,  and  is  accordingly  de- 
nominated revenge.  In  like  manner,  beneficence,  on  whom- 
soever exercised,  is  the  natural  object  of  our /owe:  love  always 
implies  benevolence,  or  a  desire  of  promoting  the  happiness  of 
the  beneficent  person  ;  but  this  passion  in  the  person  benefited 
is  conceived  to  be  so  much  greater,  and  to  infer  so  strong  an 
obligation  to  a  return  of  good  offices  to  his  benefactor,  that  it 
merits  to  be  distinguished  by  the  title  gratitude.  Now,  by 
this  circumstance  oi  interest  in  the  effects,  the  speaker,  from 
engaging  piti/  in  his  favour,  can  proceed  to  operate  on  a  more 
powerful  principle,  self-preservation.  The  benevolence  of  his 
heareti?  he  can  work  up  into  gratitude,  their  indignation  into 
revenge. 

The  two  last- mentioned  circumstances,  personal  relation 
and  interest,  are  not  without  influence,  as  was  hinted  in  the 
enumeration,  though  they  regard  the  speaker  only,  and  not 
the  hearers.  The  reasoa  is,  a  person  present  with  us,  whom 
we  see  and  hear,  and  who,  by  words,  and  looks,  and  gestures, 
gives  the  liveliest  signs  of  his  feelings,  has  the  surest  and 
most  immediate  claim  upon  our  sympathy.  We  become  in- 
fected with  his  passions.  We  are  hurried  along  by  them,  and 
not  allowed  leisure  to  distinguish  between  his  relation  and  our 
relation,  his  interest  and  our  interest. 

SECTION  VI. 

OTHER    PASSIONS,  AS  WELL  AS  MORAL  SENTIMENTS,  USEFUL  AUXILIARIES. 

So  much  for  those  circumstances  in  the  object  presented 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETOUIC.  113 

by  the  speaker  which  serve  to  awaken  and  inflame  the  pas- 
sions of  the  hearers.*     But  when  a  passion  is  once  raised. 

*  To  illustrate  most  of  the  precetiing  circumstances,  and  show  the  man 
ner  of  applyitig  them,  1  shall  take  an  example  from  Cicero's  last  oraiiou 
against  Verres,  where,  after  relating  the  crucifixion  of  Uavius,  a  Roman 
citizen,  he  exclaims,  1.  "  O  nomen  dulce  liberlaiis  !  6  jus  eximium  nostrx- 
civitatis !  6  lex  Porcia  legesque  Sempronia3 !  6  graviter  desiderata  ct  ali- 
quando  reddita  plebi  Romanae  tribunilia  potestas.  2.  Huccine  tandem  om- 
nia reciderunt,  ut  civis  Komanus  in  provincia  populi  Romani,  in  oppido 
fcederatorum,  ab  eoqui  benelicio  populi  Romani  fasceis  etsecurcis,  haberet, 
deligalus  in  foro  virgis  ca;deretur  T' — "3.  Sed  quid  ego  plura  de  Gavio  ? 
quasi  tu  Gavio  turn  fueris  iufestus,  ac  non  nomini,  gcneri,  juri  civium  hos- 
tis,  non  illi  inquam  homini,  sed  causae  communi  libertatis  ininiicus  fuisti. 
4.  Quid  enim  attinuit,  cum  Mamertini  more  atque  instituto  suo,  crucem 
fixissent  post  urbem,  in  via  Pompeia  ;  te  jubere  m  ea  parte  figere,  qua?  ad 
fretum  spectat;  et  hoc  addere,  quod  negare  nuUo  modo  potes,  quod  omni- 
bus audientibus  dixisti  palam,  teidcirco  ilium  locum  deligere,  ut  elle  qui  se 
civem  Romanum  esse  diceret,  ex  cruce  Italiam  cernere,  ac  domum  suam 
prospicere  posset?  5.  Itaque  ilia  crux  sola,  judices,  post  conditam  I\los- 
sanam,  illoin  loco  fixa  est.  G.  Itali®  conspectus  ad  eaiii  rem  ab  isto  delec- 
tus est,  ut  ille  in  dolore  cruciatuque  moriens,  perangusto  frelo  divisa  servi- 
tutis  ac  libertatis  jura  cognosceret :  Italia  aulem  alumnum  suum,  scrvitutis 
extremo  summoque  supplicio  atfectum  videret.  7.  Faciuus  est  vincire 
civem  Romanum,  scelus  verberare,  prope  parricidium  necare,  quid  dicam, 
in  crucem  toUere  ?  verbo  satis  digno  tarn  nefaria  res  appellari  nuUo  modo 
potest.  8.  Non  fuit  his  omnibus  iste  contentus  :  Speclet,  inquit,  patriam, 
in  conspectu  legum  libertatisque  moriatur.  9.  Non  tu  hoc  loco  Gavium, 
non  unam  hominem,  nescio  quern,  civem  Romanum,  sed  communem  liber- 
tatis et  civitatis  causam  in  ilium  cruciatum  et  crucem  egisti.  10.  Jam  vero 
videte  hominis  audaciam ;  Nonne  enim  graviter  tulisse  arbitramini,  quod 
illam  civibus  Romanis  crucem  non  posset  in  foro,  non  in  comitio,  non  in 
rostris  defigere.  11.  Quod  enem  his  locis  in  provincia  sua  celebritate  si- 
millimum,  regione  proximum  potuit,  elegit.  12.  Monumentum  sceleris — 
audaciasque  suae  voiuit  esse  in  conspectu  ltalise,praetervictione  omnium  qui 
ultro  citroque  navigarent." — "  13.  Paulo  ante,  judices,  lacrymas  in  inorte 
misera  atque  indrgnissima  navarchorum  non  tenebamus  :  et  recte  ac  inerito 
sociorum  mnocentium  misena  cummovebamur.  14.  Quid  nunc  in  nostro 
sanguine  tandem  facere  debemus  .'  nam  civium  Romanorum  sanguis  con- 
junctus  existimandus  est." — "  15.  Omnes  hoc  loco  cives  Romani,  et  qui  ad- 
sunt  et  qui  ubicunque  sunt,  vestram  severitatem  desiderant,  vestram  fidem 
implorant,  vestrum  auxiiium  requirunt.  16.  Omnia  sua  jura,  commoda, 
auxilia,  totam  denique  libertatem  in  vestris  sentenliis  versari  arbitrantur." 
I  shall  point  out  the  pathetic  circumstances  exemplified  in  this  passage,  ob 
serving  the  order  wherein  they  were  enumerated.  1  have  numbered  the 
sentences  in  the  quotation  to  prevent  repetition  in  referring  to  them.  It  must 
be  remarked,  first  of  all,  that  in  judiciary  orations,  such  as  this,  the  [)roper 
place  for  plausibility  is  the  narration ;  for  probability,  the  confirmation  or 
proof:  the  other  five,  though  generally  admissible  into  either  of  those  pla- 
ces, shine  principally  in  the  peroration.  I  shall  show  how  the  orator  hath 
availed  himself  of  these  in  the  passage  now  cited.  First,  importance;  and 
that  first  in  respect  of  the  enorrr^ty  of  the  action,  No.  7 ;  of  the  disposition 
of  the  actor.  No.  3,  9,  10  ;  ar  d  to  render  probable  what  might  otherwise 
appear  merely  conjectural,  N  D.  4,  5,  8,  11,  12  ;  in  respect  of  consequences, 
their  greatness,  No.  1,  2  ;  wnere  the  crime  is  most  artfully,  though  iinpli 
citly,  represented  as  subversive  of  all  that  was  dear  to  them,  liberty,  the  right 
of  citizens,  their  most  valuable  laws,  and  that  idol  of  the  people,  the  tribu 
nitian  power;  their  extent.  No.  15,  16.  Secund[y,  proxi7>titi/  of  time;  there 
is  but  an  insinuation  of  this  circumstance  in  the  word  tandem.  No.  2.  There 
are  two  reasons  which  probably  induced  the  orator  in  this  particular  to  be 
K  2 


114  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

there  are  also  other  means  by  which  it  may  be  kept  alive,  and 
even  augmented.  Other  passions  or  dispositions  nuiy  be 
called  in  as  auxiliaries.  Nothing  is  more  efficacious  in  this 
respect  than  a  sense  of  justice,  a  sense  of  public  utility,  a 
sense  of  glory ;  and  nothing  conduceth  more  to  operate  on 
these  than  the  sentiments  of  sages  whose  wisdom  we  vener- 
ate, the  example  of  heroes  whose  exploits  we  admire.  I  shall 
conckide  what  relates  to  the  exciting  of  passion  when  I  have 
remarked  that  pleading  the  importance  and  the  other  pathetic 
circumstances,  or  pleading  the  authority  of  opinions  or  pre- 
cedents, is  usually  considered,  and  aptly  enough,-  as  being 
likewise  a  species  of  reasoning. 

This  concession,  however,  doth  not  imply,  that  by  any 
reasoning  we  are  ever  taught  that  such  an  object  ought  to 
awaken  such  a  passion.    This  we  must  learn  originally  from 

so  sparing.  One  is,  the  recency  of  the  crime,  as  of  the  criminal's  pretor 
ship,  was  notorious;  the  other  and  the  weighter  is,  that  of  all  relations  this 
is  the  weakest ;  and  even  what  influence  it  hath,  reflection  serves  rather 
to  correct  than  to  confirm.  In  appearing  to  lay  stress  on  so  slight  a  cir- 
cumstance a  speaker  displays  rather  penury  of  matter  than  ahundance.  It 
is  better,  therefore,  in  most  cases,  to  suggest  it,  as  it  were  by  accident,  than 
to  insist  on  it  as  of  design.  It  deserves  also  to  be  remarked,  that  the  word 
here  employed  is  very  emphatical,  as  it  conveys,  at  the  same  time,  a  tacit 
comparison  of  their  so  recent  degeneracy  wiih  the  freedom,  security,  and 
glory  which  they  had  long  enjoyed.  The  same  word  is  again  introduced, 
No.  14,  to  the  same  intent.  Thirdly,  local  connexiim ;  in  respect  of  vicinage, 
how  atif'ectingly,  though  indirectly,  is  it  touched,  No.  4,  6,  8,  11,  12?  Indi- 
rectly, for  reasons  similar  to  those  mentioned  on  the  circumstance  of  time; 
as  to  other  local  connexions,  No.  2,  "  in  provincia  populi  Romani,  in  oppido 
fsederatorum."  Fourlhly,  persotinl  relatioti ;  first  of  the  perpetrator,  No  2, 
"abeoqui  beneficio,"&c. :  his  crime,  therefore,  more  attrocious  and  ungrate- 
ful, the  most  sacred  rights  violated  by  one  who  ought  to  have  protected 
them  ;  next  of  the  sufferer.  No.  2,  "  civis  Romanus."  This  is  most  pathet- 
ically iirged,  and  by  a  comparison  introduced,  greatly  heightened.  No.  13, 
14.  Fifthly,  the  interest ;  which  not  the  hearers  only,  but  all  who  bear  the 
Roman  name,  have  in  the  consequences,  No.  15,  IG.  We  see  in  the  above 
example  with  what  uncommon  address  and  delicacy  those  circumstances 
ought  to  be  sometimes  blended,  sometimes  but  insinuated,  sometimes,  on 
the  contrary,  warmly  urged,  sometimes  shaded  a  little,  that  the  art  may  be 
concealed  ;  and,  in  brief,  the  whole  conducted  so  as  that  nothing  material 
may  be  omitted,  that  every  sentiment  may  easily  follow  that  which  pre- 
cedes, and  usher  that  which  follows  it,  and  that  everything  said  may  ap- 
pear to  be  the  language  of  pure  nature.  The  art  of  the  rhetorician,  like 
that  of  the  philosopher,  is  analytical ;  the  art  of  the  orator  is  synthetical. 
The  former  acts  the  part  of  the  skilful  anatomist,  who,  by  removing  the 
teguments,  and  nicely  separating  the  parts,  presents  us  with  views  at  once 
naked,  distinct,  and  hideous,  now  of  the  structure  of  the  bones,  now  of  the 
muscles  and  tendons,  now  of  the  arteries  and  veins,  now  of  the  bowels, 
now  of  the  brain  and  nervous  system.  The  latter  imitates  Nature  in  the 
constructing  of  her  work,  vi'ho  with  wonderful  symmetry  unites  the  vari- 
ous organs,  adapts  them  to  their  respective  uses,  and  covers  all  with  a  de- 
cent veil,  the  skin.  Thus,  though  she  hide  entirely  the  more  minute  and 
the  interior  parts,  and  shov\'  not  to  equal  acivantage  even  the  articula- 
tions of  the  limbs  and  the  adjustment  of  the  larger  members,  adds  inex 
pressible  beauty,  and  strength,  and  energy  to  the  whole. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  115 

feeling,  not  from  argument.  No  speaker  attempts  to  jjrove 
it,  though  he  sometimes  introducctli  moral  considerations  iu 
order  to  justify  the 'passion  when  raised,  and  to  prevent  the 
hearers  from  attempting  to  suppress  it.  Even  when  he  is 
enforcing  their  regard  to  the  pathetic  circumstances  above 
mentioned,  it  is  not  so  much  his  aim  to  show  that  these  cir 
cunistances  ought  to  augment  the  passion,  as  that  these  cir- 
cumstances are  in  the  object.  The  effect  upon  their  minds 
he  commonly  leaves  to  nature,  and  is  not  afraid  of  the  con- 
clusion if  he  can  make  every  aggravating  circumstance  be, 
as  itMvere,  both  perceived  and  felt  by  them.  In  the  enthy- 
meme  (the  syllogism  of  orators,  as  Quintilian*  terms  it)  em- 
ployed in  such  cases,  the  sentiment  that  such  a  quality  or 
circumstance  ought  to  rouse  such  a  passion,  though  the  found- 
ation of  all,  is  generally  assumed  without  proof,  or  even  with- 
out mention.  This  forms  the  major  proposition,  w.'jich  is 
suppressed  as  obvious.  His  whole  art  is  exerted  in  evincing 
the  minor,  which  is  the  antecedent  in  his  argumen'.,  and 
which  maintains  the  reality  of  those  attendant  circumstances 
in  the  case  in  hand.  A  careful  attention  to  the  examples  of 
vehemence  in  the  first  chapter,  and  the  quotation  in  the  fore- 
going note,  will  sufficiently  illustrate  this  remark. 

SECTION  VII. 

HOW    AN    UNFAVOURABLE    PASSION    MUST    BE    CALMED. 

I  COME  now  to  the  second  question  on  the  subject  of  pas- 
sion. How  is  an  unfavourable  passion  or  disposition  to  be 
calmed  ]  The  answer  is,  either,  first,  by  annihilating,  or  at 
least  diminishing,  the  object  which  raised  it ;  or,  secondly,  by 
exciting  some  other  passion  which  may  counterwork  it. 

By  proving  the  falsity  of  the  narration,  or  the  utter  incred- 
ibility of  the  future  event,  on  the  supposed  truth  of  whicl  the 
passion  was  founded,  the  object  is  annihilated.  It  is  dimin- 
ished by  all  such  circumstances  as  are  contrary  to  those  by 
which  it  is  increased.  These  are,  improbability,  implausi- 
bility,  insignificance,  distance  of  time,  remoteness  of  place, 
the  persons  concerned  such  as  we  have  no  connexion  wiih, 
the  consequences  such  as  we  have  no  interest  in.  The  meth- 
od recommended  by  Gorgias  and  approved  by  Aristotle,  though 
peculiar  in  its  manner,  is,  in  those  cases  wherein  it  may  prop- 
erly be  attempted,  coincident  in  effect  with  that  now  men- 
tioned. "  It  was  a  just  opinion  of  Gorgias,  that  the  serious 
argument  of  an  adversaiy  should  be  confounded  by  ridicule, 
and  his  ridicule  by  serious  argument. "'f  For  this  is  only  en- 
deavouritig,  by  the  aid  of  laughter  and  contempt,  to  diminish, 

*  Instit.,  I ,  i.,  c.  9, 

t  Ativ  C(pri  Vofiytas  rriv  fttv  ai!Ov&  tjv  SiaipOtipctv  Toiv  tvavTiuiv  ycXiiiTh  Toi  cl 
yikiara  o-rrov&i!  o//Sa>s  Xeywv. — Mhet.,  1.  iii.,  c.  xvui. 


116  THE    PIIILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

or  even  quite  undo,  the  unfriendly  emotions  that  have  been 
raised  in  the  minds  of  tlie  hearers ;  or,  on  the  contrary,  by 
satisfying  them  of  the  seriousness  of  the  subject,  and  of  the 
importance  of  its  consequences,  to  extinguish  the  contempt, 
and  make  the  laughter  which  the  antagonist  wanted  to  excite, 
appear,  when  examined,  no  better  than  madness. 

The  second  way  of  silencing  an  unfavourable  passion  or 
disposition  is  by  conjuring  up  some  other  passion  or  disposi- 
tion which  may  overcome  it.  With  regard  to  conduct,  when- 
ever the  mind  deliberates,  it  is  conscious  of  contrary  mo- 
tives impelling  it  in  opposite  directions  ;  in  other  words,  it 
finds  that  acting  thus  would  gratify  one  passion  ;  not  acting, 
or  acting  otherwise,  would  gratify  another.  To  take  such  a 
step,  I  perceive,  would  promote  my  interest,  but  derogate 
from  my  honour.  Such  another  will  gratify  my  resentment, 
but  hurt  my  interest.  When  this  is  the  case,  as  the  speaker 
can  be  at  no  loss  to  discover  the  conflicting  passions,  he  must 
be  sensible  that  whatever  foice  he  adds  to  the  disposition 
that  favours  his  design  is,  in  fact,  so  much  subtracted  from 
the  disposition  that  opposeth  it,  and  conversely  ;  as  in  the 
two  scales  of  a  balance,  it  is  equal  in  regard  to  the  effect, 
whether  you  add  so  much  weight  to  one  scale,  or  take  it 
from  the  other. 

Thus  we  have  seen  in  what  manner  passion  to  an  absent 
object  may  be  excited  by  eloquence,  which,  by  enlivening 
and  invigorating  the  ideas  of  imagination,  makes  them  re- 
semble the  impressions  of  sense  and  the  traces  of  memory, 
and  in  this  respect  hath  an  effect  on  the  mind  similar  to  that 
produced  by  a  telescope  on  the  sight ;  things  remote  are 
brought  near,  things  obscure  rendered  conspicuous.  We 
have  seen,  also,  in  what  manner  a  passion  already  excited 
maybe  calmed  ;  how,  by  the  oratorical  magic,  as  by  invert- 
ing the  telescope,  the  object  may  be  again  removed  and  di- 
nnnished. 

It  were  endless  to  enumerate  all  the  rhetorical  figures  thaJ 
are  adapted  to  the  pathetic.  Let  it  sufFice  to  say,  that  mosi 
of  those  already  named  may  be  successfully  employed  here, 
Of  others,  the  principal  are  these  :  correction,  climax,  vision, 
exclamation,  apostrophe,  and  interrogation.  The  first  three, 
correction,  climax,  and  vision,  tend  greatly  to  enliven  the 
ideas,  by  the  implicit,  but  animated  comparison  and  opposi- 
tion conveyed  in  them.  Implicit  and  indirect  comparison  is 
more  suitable  to  the  disturbed  state  of  mind  required  by  the 
pathetic  than  that  which  is  explicit  and  direct.  The  latter 
implies  leisure  and  tranquillity,  the  former  rapidity  and  fire. 
Exclamation  and  apostrophe  operate  chiefly  by  sympathy,  as 
they  are  the  most  ardent  expressions  of  perturbation  in  the 
speaker.  It  at  first  sight  appears  more  difficult  to  account 
for  the  effect  of  interrogation,  which,  being  an  appeal  to  the 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORfC.  117 

hearers,  though  it  might  awaken  a  ch)ser  attention,  yet  could 
not.  one  would  imugine,  excite  in  their  miilds  any  new  emo- 
tion that  was  not  there  before.  This,  nevertheless,  it  doth 
excite,  through  an  oblique  operation  of  the  same  principle. 
Such  an  appeal  implies  in  the  orator  the  strongest  confidence 
in  the  rectitude  of  his  sentiments,  and  in  the  concurrence  of 
every  reasonable  being.  The  auditors,  by  sympathizing  with 
this  frame  of  spirit,  find  it  impracticable  to  withhold  an  assent 
which  is  so  confidently  depended  on.  But  there  will  be  oc- 
casion afterward  for  discussing  more  particularly  tiie  rhetor- 
ical tropes  and  figures,  when  we  come  to  treat  of  elocution. 
Thus  I  have  finished  the  consideration  which  the  speaker 
ought  to  have  of  his  hearers  as  men  in  general ;  that  is,  as 
thinking  beings  endowed  with  understanding,  imagination, 
memory,  and  passtons,  such  as  we  are  conscious  of  in  our- 
selves, and  learn  from  the  experience  of  their  effects  lo  be 
in  others.  I  have  pointed  out  the  arts  to  be  employed  by 
him  in  engaging  all  those  faculties  in  his  service,  that  what 
he  advanceth  may  not  only  be  understood,  not  only  command 
attention,  not  onh'  be  re.nembered,  but,  which  is  the  chief 
point  of  all,  may  interest  the  heart 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

OF    THE    CONSIDERATION    WHICH    THE    SPEAKER    OUGHT    TO    HAVE 
OK    THE    HEAREKS,    AS    SUCH    MEN    IN    PARTICULAR. 

It  was  remarked  in  the  beginning  of  the  preceding  cliap- 
ter,  that  the  hearers  ought  to  be  considered  in  a  twofold  view, 
as  men  in  general,  and  as  such  men  in  particular.  The  first 
consideration  I  have  despatched  ;  I  now  enter  on  the  second. 

When  it  is  affirmed  that  the  hearers  are  to  be  considered 
as  such  men  in  particular,  no  more  is  meant  tlian  that  regard 
ought  to  be  had  by  the  speaker  to  the  special  character  of 
the  audience,  as  composed  of  such  individuals,  that  he  may 
suit  himself  to  them  both  in  his  style  and  in  his  arguments.* 
Nov/  the  difference  between  one  audience  and  another  is  very 
great,  not  only  in  intellectual,  but  in  iiioral  attainments.  It 
may  be  clearly  intelligible  to  a  Mouse  of  Commons,  which 
would  appear  as  if  spoken  in  an  unknown  tongue  to  a  con- 
venticle of  enthusiasts.  It  may  kindle  fury  in  the  latter, 
wliich  would  create  no  enjotion  in  the  ibrmer  but  laughter 
and  contempt.  The  most  obvious  difference  that  appears  in 
different  auditories  results  from   the  different  cultivation  o' 

•  He  must,  be  "Orpheus  in  sylvis,   -■•icr  deljiK;nas  Ari.jn." — Viko. 


ilS  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    KHETORIC. 

the  understanding ;  and  the  influence  which  this  and  their 
manner  of  hie  have,  both  upon  the  imagination  and  upon  the 
memory. 

But  even  in  cases  wherein  the  diflerence  in  education  and 
moral  culture  hath  not  been  considerable,  difterent  habits 
afterward  contracted,  and  different  occupations  in  life,  give 
difterent  propensities,  and  make  one  incline  more  to  one  pas- 
sion, another  to  another.  They  consequently  afford  the  in- 
telligent speaker  an  easier  passage  to  the  heart,  through  the 
channel  of  the  favourite  passion.  Thus  liberty  and  independ- 
ence will  ever  be  prevalent  motives  with  Republicans,  pomp 
and  splendour  with  those  attached  to  monarchy.  In  mercan- 
tile states,  such  as  Carthage  among  the  ancients,  or  Holland 
among  the  moderns,  interest  will  always  prove  the  most  co- 
gent argument ;  in  states  solely  or  chiefly'composed  of  sol- 
diers, such  as  Sparta  and  ancient  Rome,  no  inducement  will 
be  found  a  counterpoise  to  glory.  Similar  differences  are 
also  to  be  made  in  addressing  different  classes  of  men.  With 
men  of  genius,  the  most  successful  topic  will  be  fame  ;  with 
men  of  industry,  riches  ;  with  men  of  fortune,  pleasure. 

But  as  the  characters  of  audiences  may  be  infinitely  diver 
sified,  and  as  the  influence  they  ought  to  have  respectively 
upon  the  speaker  must  be  obvious  to  a  person  of  discernment, 
it  is  sufficient  here  to  have  observed  thus  nuich  in  the  general 
concerning  them. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

OF    THE    CONSIDERATION    WHICH    THE    SPEAKEK     /UGHT    TO    HAVE 
OP    HIMSELF. 

The  last  consideration  I  mentioned  is  that  which  the  speaker 
ought  to  have  of  himself.  By  this  we  are  to  understand,  not 
that  estimate  of  himself  which  is  derived  directly  from  con- 
sciousness or  self-acquaintance,  but  that  wliich  is  obtained 
reflexively  from  the  opinion  entertained  of  hun  by  the  hear- 
ers, or  the  character  which  he  ^  ears  witli  them.  Sympathy 
is  one  main  engine  by  which  the  orator  operates  on  the  pas- 
sions. 

"  With  them  who  laugh  our  social  joy  appears ; 
With  them  who  mourn  we  sympathize  in  tears ; 
If  you  would  have  me  weep,  begin  the  strain, 
Then  I  shall  feel  your  sorrows,  feel  your  pain."* 
•  Francis. 

"  Vt  ridentibus  arrident,  ita  flentibus  adfluent  ^ 
Humani  vultus.  Si  vis  me  Here,  dolendum  est 
Primum  ipsi  tibi :  tunc  tua  me  infortunia  tedent." 

HoR.,  De  Arte  Poet. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  119 

Whatever,  therefore,  weakens  that  principle  of  sympatliy, 
must  do  tlie  speaker  unutterable  prejudice  in  respect  of  liis 
power  over  the  passions  of  his  audience,  l)ut  not  in  this  re- 
spect onlj\  One  source,  at  least,  of  the  primary  influence  of 
testimony  qn  faith,  is  doubtless  to  be  attributed  to  the  same 
communicative  principle.  At  the  same  time  it  is  certain,  as 
was  remarked  above,  that  every  testimony  doth  not  equally 
attach  this  principle  ;  that  in  this  particular  the  reputation  of 
tlie  attestor  hath  a  considerable  power.  Now  the  speaker's 
apparent  conviction  of  the  truth  of  what  he  advanceth  adds 
to  all  his  other  arguments  an  evidence,  though  not  precisely 
the  same,  yet  near  akin  to  that  of  his  own  testimony.*  'J'hi's 
hath  some  weight  even  with  the  wisest  hearers,  but  is  every- 
thing with  the  vulgar.  Whatever,  therefore,  lessens  sympa- 
thy, must  also  impair  belief. 

Sympathy  in  the  hearers  to  the  speaker  may  be  lessened 
several  ways,  chiefly  by  these  two  :  by  a  low  opinion  of  his 
intellectual  abilities,  and  by  a  bad  opinion  of  his  morals.  The 
latter  is  the  more  prejudicial  of  the  two.*  Men  generally  will 
think  themselves  in  less  danger  of  being  seduced  by  a  man 
of  weak  understanding  but  of  distinguished  probity,  than' by 
a  man  of  the  best  understanding  who  is  of  a  profligate  life. 
So  much  more  powerfully  do  the  qualities  of  the  heart  attach 
us  than  those  of  the  head.  This  preference,  though  it  may 
be  justly  called  untaught  and  instinctive,  arising  purely  from 
the  original  frame  of  the  mind,  reason,  or  the  knowledge  of 
mankind  acquired  by  experience,  instead  of  weakening,  seems 
afterward  to  corroborate.  Hence  it  hath  become  a  common 
topic  with  rhetoricians,  that  in  order  to  be  a  successful  ora 
tor,  one  must  be  a  good  man  ;  for  to  be  good  is  the  only  sure 
way  of  being  long  esteemed  good,  and  to  be  esteemed  good 
is  previously  necessary  to  one's  being  heard  with  due  atten- 
tion and  regard.  Consequently,  the  topic  hath  a  foundation 
in  human  nature.  There  are,  indeed,  other  things  in  the  char- 
acter of  the  speakei",  which  in  a  less  degree  will  hurt  his  in- 
fluence :  youth,  inexperience  of  aftairs,  former  want  of  suc- 
cess, and  the  like. 

But  of  all  the  prepossessions  in  the  minds  of  the  hearers 
which  tend  to  impede  or  counteract  the  design  of  the  speak- 
er, party  spirit,  where  it  happens  to  prevail,  is  the  most  per- 
nicious, being  at  once  the  most  inflexible  and  the  most  un 
just.  This  prejudice  1  mention  by  itself,  as  those  above  re- 
cited may  have  place  at  any  time,  and  in  any  national  cir- 
cumstances. This  hath  place  only  when  a  people  is  so  un- 
fortunate as  to  be  torn  by  faction.  In  that  case,  if  the  speak- 
er and  the  hearers,  or  the  bulk  of  the  hearers,  be  of  contrary 

*  "Ne  illud  quidem  pisteribo,  quantain  afferat  fidem  exposition),  nar 
antis  auctoritas." — Quint.,  lib.  iv.,  cap.  ii. 


120  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

parties,  their  minds  will  be  more  prepossessed  against  him. 
though  his  life  were  ever  so  blameless,  than  if  he  were  a  ma» 
of  the  most  flagitious  manners,  but  of  the  same  party.  Thi: 
holds  but  too  much  alike  of  all  parties,  religious  and  politi 
cal.  Violent  party  men  not  only  lose  all  sympathy  with  those 
of  the  opposite  side,  but  contract  an  antipathy  to  them.  This, 
on  some  occasions,  even  the  divinest  eloquence  will  not  sur- 
mount. 

As  to  personal  prejudices  in  general,  I  shall  conclude  wit . 
two  remarks.  The  first  is,  the  more  gross  the  hearers  arc 
so  much  the  more  susceptible  they  are  of  such  prejudices 
Nothing  exposes  the  mind  more  to  all  their  baneful  influen- 
ces than  ignorance  and  rudeness  ;  the  rabble  chiefly  consider 
who  speaks,  men  of  sense  and  education  what  is  spokei:. 
Nor  are  the  multitude,  to  do  them  justice,  less  excessive  in 
their  love  than  in  their  hatred,  in  their  attachments  than  in 
their  aversions.  From  a  consciousness,  it  would  seem,  of 
their  own  incapacity  to  guide  themselves,  they  are  ever  prone 
blindly  to  submit  to  the  guidance  of  some  popular  orator, 
who  haih  had  the  address,  first,  either  to  gain  their  approba- 
tion by  his  real  or  pretended  virtues,  or,  which  is  the  easier 
way,  to  recommend  himself  to  their  esteem  by  a  flaming 
zeal  for  their  favourite  distinctions,  and  afterward  by  his  elo- 
quence to  work  upon  their  passions.  At  the  same  time,  it 
must  be  acknowledged,  on  the  other  hand,  that  even  men  of 
the  most  improved  intellects  and  most  refined  sentiments  are 
not  altogether  beyond  the  reach  of  preconceived  opinion,  ei- 
ther in  the  speaker's  favour  or  to  his  prejudice. 

The  second  remark  is,  that  when  the  opinion  of  the  audi- 
ence is  unfavourable,  the  speaker  hath  need  to  be  much  more 
cautious  in  every  step  he  takes,  to  show  more  modesty,  and 
greater  deference  to  the  judgment  of  his  hearers  ;  perhaps,  in 
order  to  win  them,  he  may  find  it  necessary  to  make  some 
concessions  in  relation  to  his  former  principles  or  conduct, 
and  to  entreat  their  attention  from  pure  regard  to  the  subject, 
that,  like  men  of  judgment  and  candour,  they  would  impar- 
tially consider  what  is  said,  and  give  a  welcome  reception  to 
truth,  from  what  quarter  soever  it  proceed.  Thus  he  must 
attempt,  if  possible,  to  mollify  them,  gradually  to  insinuate 
himself  into  their  favour,  and  thereby  imperceptibly  to  trans- 
fuse his  sentiments  and  passions  into  their  minds. 

The  man  who  enjoys  the  advantage  of  popularity  needs 
not  this  caution.  The  minds  of  his  auditors  are  perfectly  at 
tuned  to  his.  They  are  prepared  for  adopting  implicitly  his 
opinions,  and  accompanying  him  in  all  his  most  passionate 
excursions.  When  the  people  are  willing  to  run  with  you, 
you  may  run  as  fast  as  you  can,  especially  when  the  case  re 
quires  impetuosity  and  despatch.  But  if  you  find  in  them  no 
such  ardour,  if  it  is  not  even  without  reluctance  that  they  an: 


THE    rniLOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  121 

induced  to  walk  with  jou,  you  must  slacken  your  pace  and 
keep  tiicm  company,  lest  thej^  either  stand  still  or  turn  back. 
Difterent  rules  are  given  by  riietoricians  as  adapted  to  differ- 
ent circumstances.  Differences  in  this  respect  are  number- 
less. It  is  enough  here  to  have  observed  those  principles  in 
the  mind  on  which  the  rules  are  founded. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  DIFFERENT  KINDS  OF  PUBLIC  SPEAKING  IN  USE  AMONG  THE 
MODERNS,  COMPARED,  WITH  A  VIEW  TO  THEIR  DIFFERENT  AD- 
VANTAGES   IN    RESPECT    TO    ELOQUENCE. 

The  principal  sorts  of  discourses  which  here  demand  our 
notice,  and  on  which  I  intend  to  make  some  observations,  are 
the  three  following  :  the  orations  deliverjed  at  the  bar,  those 
pronounced  in  the  senate,  and  those  spoken  from  the  pulpit. 
I  do  not  make  a  separate  article  of  tlie  speeches  delivered 
by  judges  to  their  colleagues  on  the  bench,  because,  though 
there  be  something  peculiar  here,  arising  from  the  difference 
in  character  that  subsists  between  the  judge  and  the  pleader, 
in  all  the  other  material  circumstances,  the  persons  addressed, 
the  subject,  the  occasion,  and  the  purpose  in  speaking,  there 
is  in  these  two  sorts  a  perfect  coincidence.  In  like  manner, 
1  forbear  to  mention  the  theatre,  because  so  entirely  dissim- 
ilar, both  in  form  and  in  kind,  as  hardly  to  be  capable  of  a 
place  in  the  comparison.  Besides,  it  is  only  a  cursory  view 
of  the  chief  differences,  and  not  a  critical  examination  of 
them  all,  that  is  here  proposed,  my  design  being  solely  to 
assist  the  mind  both  in  apprehending  rightly,  and  in  applying 
properly,  the  principles  above  laid  down.  In  this  respect, 
the  present  discussion  will  serve  to  exemplify  and  illustrate 
those  principles.  Under  these  five  particulars,  therefore,  the 
speaker,  the  hearers  or  persons  addressed,  the  subject,  the 
occasion,  and  the  end  in  view,  or  the  effect  intended  to  be 
produced  by  the  discourse,  1  shall  range,  for  order's  sake,  the 
remarks  I  intend  to  lay  before  the  reader. 

SECTION  I 

IN    REGARD    TO    THE    SPEAKER. 

The  first  consideration  is  that  of  the  character  to  be  sus- 
tained by  the  speaker.  It  was  remarked  in  general,  in  the 
preceding  chapter,  that  for  promoting  the  success  of  the  ora- 
tor (whatever  be  the  kind  of  public  speaking  in  which  he  is 
concerned),  it  is  a  matter  of  some  consequence,  that  in  the 


122  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

Dpinion  of  those  whom  he  addresseth,  he  is  both  a  wise  and 
a  good  man.  Cut,  tlioiigh  this  in  some  measure  holds  uni- 
versally, nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  the  degree  of  con- 
sequence Nvhich  lies  in  their  opinion  is  exceedingly  different 
in  the  different  kinds.  In  each  it  depends  chiefly  on  two  cir- 
cumstances, the  nature  of  his  profession  as  a  public  speaker, 
and  the  character  of  those  to  whom  his  discourses  are  ad 
dressed.  ' 

As  to  the  first,  arising  from  the  nature  of  the  profession,  it 
will  not  admit  of  a  question  that  the  preacher  hath  in  this 
respect  the  most  difficult  task,  inasmuch  as  he  hath  a  charac- 
ter to  support  which  is  much  more  easily  injured  than  that 
either  of  the  senator  or  of  the  speaker  at  the  bar.  No  doubt 
the  reputation  of  capacity,  experience  in  affairs,  and  as  niufh 
integrity  as  is  thought  attainable  by  those  called  men  of  the 
world,  will  add  weight  to  the  words  of  the  senator ;  that  of 
skill  in  his  profession,  and  fidelity  in  his  representations,  will 
serve  to  recommend  what  is  spoken  by  the  lawyer  at  the  bar ; 
but  if  these  characters  in  general  remam  unimpeached,  the 
public  will  be  sufficiently  indulgent  to  both  in  every  other  re- 
spect. On  the  contrary,  there  is  little  or  no  indulgence,  in 
regard  to  his  own  failings,  to  be  expected  by  the  man  who  is 
professedly  a  sort  of  authorized  censor,  who  hath  it  in  charge 
to  mark  and  reprehend  the  faults  of  others  :  and  even  in  the 
execution  of  this  so  ticklish  a  part  of  his  office,  the  least  ex- 
cess on  either  hand  exposeth  him  to  censure  and  dislike. 
Too  much  lenity  is  enough  to  stigmatize  him  as  lukewarm 
in  the  cause  of  virtue,  and  too  much  severity  as  a  stranger 
to  the  spirit  of  the  Gospel. 

But  let  us  consider  more  directly  what  is  implied  in  the 
character,  that  we  may  better  judge  of  the  effect  it  will  have 
on  the  expectations  and  demands  of  the  people,  and,  conse- 
quently, on  his  public  teaching.  First,  then,  it  is  a  character 
of  some  authority,  as  it  is  of  one  educated  for  a  pui-pose  so 
important  as  that  of  a  teacher  of  religion.  This  authority, 
however,  from  the  nature  of  the  function,  must  be  tempered 
with  moderation,  candour,  and  benevolence.  The  preacher 
of  the  Gospel,  as  the  very  terms  import,  is  the  minister  of 
grace,  the  herald  of  Divine  mercy  to  ignorant, ,  sinful,  and 
erring  men.  The  magistrate,  on  the  contrary  (under  which 
term  may  be  included  secular  judges  and  counsellors  of  every 
denomination),  is  the  minister  of  Divine  justice  and  of  wrath. 
Hi  beareth  not  the  sword  in  vain*  He  is,  on  the  part  of  Heav- 
en, the  avenger  of  the  society  with  whose  protection  he  is 
intrusted,  against  all  who  invade  its  rights.  The  first  oper- 
ates chiefly  on  our  love,  the  second  on  our  fear.  Minister  of 
religion,  like  angel  of  God,  is  a  name  that  ought  to  ccnvey 
the  idea  of  something  endearing  and  attractive  ;  whereas  the 
*  Rom.,  xiii.,  4. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  123 

title  minister  of  justice  invariably  sn<Tgests  the  notion  of  some- 
thing awfnl  and  iinrelpiuing.  In  the  former,  evc-n  his  imlig- 
nation  against  sin  ought  to  be  surmounted  by  his  pity  of  the 
condition,  and  concern  for  the  recovery  of  the  sinner.  Tliough 
firm  in  declaring  the  will  of  God,  though  steady  in  maintain- 
ing the  cause  of  truth,  yet  mild  in  his  addresses  to  the  peo- 
ple, condescending  to  the  weak,  using  rather  entreaty  than 
command,  beseeching  them  by  the  lowliness  and  gentleness 
of  Christ,  knowing  that  the  servant  of  the  Lord  must  not  strive, 
but  be  gentle  to  all  inen,  apt  to  teach,  patient,  in  meekness  instruct- 
ing those  that  oppose  themselves*  Me  must  be  grave  without 
moroseness,  cheerful  without  levity.  And  even  in  setting 
before  his  people  the  terrors  of  the  Lord,  affection  ought 
manifestly  to  predominate  in  the  warning  which  he  is  com- 
pelled to  give.  From  these  ^qw  hints,  it  plainly  appears  that 
there  is  a  certain  delicacy  in  the  character  of  a  preacher 
which  he  is  never  at  liberty  totally  to  overlook,  and  to  which, 
if  there  appear  anything  incongruous,  either  in  his  conduct 
or  in  his  public  performances,  it  will  never  fail  to  injure  their 
effect.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  well  known  that  as,  in  the 
other  professions,  the  speaker's  private  life  is  but  very  little 
minded,  so  there  are  many  things  which,  though  they  would 
be  accounted  nowise  unsuitable  from  the  bar  or  in  the  senate, 
would  be  deemed  altogether  unbefitting  the  pulpit. 

It  ought  not  to  be  overlooked,  on  the  other  hand,  that  there 
is  one  peculiarity  in  the  lawyers  professional  character 
which  is  unfavourable  to  conviction,  and  consequently  gives 
him  some  disadvantage  both  of  the  senator  and  tlie  preacher. 
We  know  that  he  must  defend  his  client,  and  argue  on  the 
side  on  which  he  is  retainecj.  We  know,  also,  that  a  tri- 
fling and  accidental  circumstance,  which  nowise  affects  the 
merits  of  the  cause,  such  as  a  prior  application  from  tiie  ad- 
verse party,  would  probably  have  made  him  employ  the 
same  acuteness  and  display  the  same  fervour  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  question.  This  circumstance,  thougii  not 
considered  as  a  fault  in  the  character  of  the  man,  but  as  a 
natural,  because  an  ordinary,  consequent  of  the  office,  cannot 
fail,  when  reflected  on,  to  make  us  shyer  of  yielding  our  as- 
sent. It  removes  entirely  what  was  observed  in  the  prece- 
ding chapter  to  be  of  great  moment,  our  belief  of  the  speake;-'s 
sincerity.  This  belief  can  hardly  be  rendered  compatible 
with  the  knowledge  that  both  truth  and  right  are  so  common- 
ly and  avowedly  sacrificed  to  interest  I  acknowledge  that 
an  uncommon  share  of  eloquence  will  carry  off  the  minds  of 
most, people  from  attending  to  this  circun. stance,  or,  at  le.ist, 
from  paying  any  regard  to  it.  Yet  Antony  is  represented  by 
Cicerof  as  thinking  the  advocate's  reputation  so  delicate, 

♦  2  Tim.,  ii.,  it,  25. 

t  Do  Oral.,  lia.  ii.     Ergo  ista  studia  non  improbo,  moderata  mod6  oint 


124  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETOKrC. 

that  the  practice  of  aniiising  himself  in  philosophical  dispu- 
tations witli  his  friends  is  sufficient  to  liurt  it,  and,  conse- 
qnenti}',  to  afiect  tlie  credil)iiity  of  liis  pleadings.  Snrely  the 
barefaced  prostilution  of  his  talents  (and  in  spite  of  its  com- 
monness, what  else  can  \ve  call  it])  in  supporting  indiffer- 
ently, as  pecuniary  considerations  determine  him,  truth  or 
falsehood,  justice  or  injustice,  must  have  a  still  worse  effect 
on  the  opinion  of  his  hearers. 

It  was  affirmed  that  the  consequence  of  the  speaker's  own 
character  in  furthering  or  hindering  his  success,  depends  in 
«ome  measure  on  the  character  of  those  whom  he  address- 
eth.  Here,  indeed,  it  will  be  found,  on  inquiry,  that  the 
preacher  labours  under  a  manifest  disadvantage.  Most  con- 
gregations are  of  that  kind,  as  will  appear  from  the  article 
immediately  succeeding,  whi-di,  agreeably  to  an  observation 
made  in  the  former  chapter,  very  much  considers  who 
speaks ;  those  addressed  from  the  bar  or  in  the  senate  con- 
sider more  what  is  spoken. 

SECTION  II. 

IN  REGARD  TO  THE  PERSONS  ADDRESSED. 

The  second  particular  mentioned  as  a  ground  of  compari- 
son is  the  consideration  of  the  character  of  the  hearers,  or, 
more  properly,  the  persons  addressed.  Tiie  necessity  which 
a  speaker  is  under  of  suiting  himself  to  his  audience,  both 
that  he  may  be  understood  by  them,  and  that  his  words  may 
have  influence  upon  them,  is  a  maxim  so  evident  as  to  need 
neither  proof  nor  illustration. 

Now  the  first  remark  that  claims  our  attention  liere  is,  that 
the  more  mixed  the  auditory  is,  the  greater  is  the  difficulty 
of  speaking  to  them  with  efi'ect.  The  reason  is  obvious: 
what  will  tend  to  favour  your  success  with  one,  may  tenfl  to 
obstruct  it  with  another.  The  more  various,  therefore,  the 
individuals  are  in  respect  of  age,  rank,  fortune,  education, 
prejudices,  the  more  delicate  must  be  the  art  of  preserving 
propriety  in  an  address  to  the  whole.  The  pleader  has,  in 
this  respect,  the  simplest  and  the  easiest  task  of  all ;  the 
judges  to  whom  his  oration  is  addressed  being  commonly 
men  of  the  same  rank,  of  similar  education,  and  not  differing 
greatly  in  respect  of  studies  or  attainments.  The  difference 
in  these  respects  is  much  more  considerable  when  he  ad- 
dresses the  jury.  A  speaker  in  the  House  of  Peers  hath  not 
so  mixed  an  auditory  as  one  who  harangues  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  And  even  here,  as  all  the  members  may  be  sup- 
posed to  have  been  educated  as  gentlemen,  the  audience  is 

Opinionem  istorumstudiotorum,et  suspicionem  omnibum  artificii  apud  eos 
quires  judicent,  oratori  adversariam  esse  arbitror.  Iraminuit  enim  ft  orato 
ris  aucioritaiem.  et  oratiouis  fidem. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  125 

not  nearly  so  promiscuous  as  were  tlie  popular  asscmhiies 
of  Athens  and  of  Rome,  to  which  their  fleinagogues  declaim- 
ed with  so  much  vehemence  and  so  wonderful  success.  Yet 
even  of  these,  women,  minors,  and  servants  made  no  part. 

We  may,  therefore,  justly  reckon  a  Christian  congregation 
in  a  populous  and  flourishing  city,  where  there  is  a  great  va- 
riety in  rank  and  education,  to  be  of  all  audiences  the  most 
promiscuous.  And  though  it  is  impossible  that,  in  so  mixed 
a  multitude,  everything  that  is  advanced  by  the  speaker 
should,  both  in  sentiment  and  in  expression,  be  adapted  to  the 
apprehension  of  every  individual  iiearer,  and  fall  in  with  !iis 
})arlicuhir  prepcjssessions,  yet  ii  may  be  expected  that  what- 
ever is  advanced  shall  be  within  the  reach  of  every  class  of 
hearers,  and  shall  not  unnecessarily  shock  the  innocent  prej- 
udices of  any.  Tliis  is  still,  however,  to  be  understood  with 
the  exception  of  mere  children,  fools,  and  a  few  others,  who, 
through  the  total  neglect  of  parents  or  guardians  in  th<^ir  ed- 
ucation, are  grossly  ignorant.  Such,  though  in  the  audience, 
are  not  to  be  considered  as  constituting  a  part  of  it.  But 
how  great  is  the  attention  requisite  in  the  speaker  in  such 
an  assembly,  that  while,  on  the  one  hand,  he  avoids,  eitlier 
in  style  or  in  sentiment,  soaring  above  the  capacity  of  tiie 
lower  class,  he  may  not,  on  the  other,  sink  below  the  regard 
of  the  higher.  To  attain  simplicity  without  flatness,  delicacy 
Avilhout  refinement,  perspicuity  without  recurring  to  low  idi- 
oms and  similitudes,  will  require  his  utmost  care. 

Another  remark  on  this  article  that  deserves  our  notice  is, 
that'  the  less  improved  in  knowledge  and  discernment  the 
hearers  are,  the  easier  it  is  for  the  speaker  to  work  upon 
their  passions,  and,  by  working  on  their  passions,  to  obtain 
his  end.  This,  it  must  be  owned,  appears,  on  the  other  hand, 
to  give  a  considerable  advantage  to  the  preacher,  as  in  no 
congregation  can  the  bulk  of  the  people  be  regarded  as  oii  a 
footing,  in  point  of  improvement,  with  either  house  of  Parlia- 
ment, or  with  the  judges  in  a  court  of  judicature.  It  is  cer- 
tain, that  the  more  gross  the  liearers  are,  the  more  avowedly 
may  you  address  yourself  to  their  passions,  and  the  less  oc- 
casion there  is  for  argument ;  whereas,  the  more  intelligent 
they  are,  the  more  covertly  must  you  operate  on  their  pas- 
sions, and  the  more  attentive  must  you  be  in  regard  to  the 
justness,  or,  at  least,  the  speciousness  of  your  reasoning. 
Hence  some  have  strangely  concluded,  that  the  only  scope 
for  eloquence  is  in  haranguing  the  multitude  ;  that  in  gaining 
over  to  your  purpose  men  of  knowledge  and  breeding,  the  ex- 
ertion of  oratorical  talents  hath  no  influence.  This  is  pre- 
cisely as  if  one  should  argue,  because  a  mob  is  much  easier 
subdued  than  regular  troops,  there  is  no  occasion  for  the;  art 
of  war,  nor  is  there  a  proper  field  for  the  exertion  of  mil- 
itary skill  unless  when  you  are  quelling  an  undisciplined  rah. 
L  2 


126  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OP    RHETORIC. 

ble.  Everybody  sees  in  this  case  not  only  liow  absurd  such 
a  way  of  arguing  would  be,  but  that  the  very  reverse  ought 
to  be  the  conchision.  The  reason  why  people  do  not  so 
quickly  perceive  the  absurdity  in  the  other  case  is,  tliat  they 
affix  no  distinct  meaning  to  the  word  eloquence,  often  deno- 
ting no  more  by  that  term  than  simply  the  power  of  moving 
the  passions.  But  even  in  this  improper  acceptation  their 
notion  is  far  from  being  just ;  for  wherever  there  are  men, 
learned  or  ignorant,  civilized  or  barbarous,  there  are  pas- 
sions ;  and  the  greater  the  difficulty  is  in  affecting  these,  the 
more  art  is  requisite.  The  truth  is,  eloquence,  like  every 
other  art,  proposeth  the  accomplishment  of  a  certain  end. 
Passion  is  for  the  most  part  but  the  means  employed  for  ef- 
fecting the  end,  and  therefore,  like  all  other  means,  will  no 
farther  be  regarded  in  any  case  than  it  can  be  rendered  con- 
ducible  to  tlie  end. 

Now  the  preacher's  advantage  even  here,  in  point  of  facil- 
ity, at  least  in  several  situations,  will  not  appear,  on  reflec- 
tion, to  be  so  great  as  on  a  superficial  view  it  may  be  thought. 
Let  it  be  observed,  that,  in  such  congregations  as  were  sup- 
posed, there  is  a  mixture  of  superior  and  inferior  ranks.  It 
is  therefore  the  business  of  the  speaker  so  far  only  fo  accom- 
modate himself  to  one  class  as  not  wantonly  to  disgust  an- 
other. Besides,  it  will  scarcely  be  denied,  that  those  in  the 
superior  walks  of  life,  however  much  by  reading  and  conver- 
sation improved  in  all  genteel  accomplishments,  often  have 
as  much  need  of  religious  instruction  and  moral  improve- 
ment as  those  who  in  every  other  particular  are  acknowl- 
edged to  be  their  inferiors.  And  doubtless  the  reformation 
of  such  will  be  allowed  to  be,  in  one  respect,  of  greater  im- 
portance (and,  therefore,  never  to  be  overlooked),  that,  in 
consequence  of  such  an  event,  more  good  may  redound  to 
others  from  the  more  extensive  influence  of  their  authority 
and  example. 

SECTION  III. 

IN    REGARD    TO    THE    SUBJECT. 

The  third  particular  mentioned  was  the  subject  of  discourse. 
This  may  be  considered  in  a  twofold  view  :  first,  as  imply- 
ing the  topics  of  argument,  motives,  and  principles  which  are 
suited  to  each  of  the  diff"erent  kinds,  and  must  be  employed 
in  order  to  produce  the  intended  effect  on  the  hearers ;  sec- 
ondly, as  implying  the  persons  or  things  in  whose  favour  or 
to  whose  prejudice  the  speaker  purposes  to  excite  the  pas- 
sions of  the  audience,  and  thereby  to  influence  their  determi- 
nations. 

On  the  first  of  these  articles,  I  acknowledge  the  preacher 
hath  incomparably  the  advantage  of  every  other  public  ora- 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  127 

tor.  At  the  bar,  critical  explications  of  dark  and  ambig^uous 
statutes,  quotations  of  precedents  sometimes  contradictory, 
and  comments  on  jarring  decisions  and  reports,  often  neces- 
sarily consume  the  greater  part  of  the  speaker's  time.  Hence 
the  mixture  of  a  sort  of  metaphysics  and  verbal  criticism, 
emploj^ed  by  lawyers  in  their  pleadings,  hath  come  to  be  dis- 
tinguished by  the  name  of  chicane,  a  species  of  reasoning  too 
abstruse  to  command  attention  of  any  continuance  even  from 
the  studious,  and,  consequently,  not  very  favourable  to  the 
powers  of  rhetoric.  When  the  argument  doth  not  turn  on  tiie 
common  law,  or  on  nice  and  hypercritical  explications  of  the 
statute,  but  on  the  great  principles  of  natural  right  and  jus- 
tice, as  sometimes  happens,  particularly  in  criminal  cases, 
the  speaker  is  much  more  advantageously  situated  for  ex- 
hibiting his  rhetorical  talents  than  in  the  former  case.  When, 
in  consequence  of  the  imperfection  of  the  evidence,  the  ques- 
tion happens  to  be  more  a  question  of  fact  than  either  of  mu- 
nicipal law  or  of  natural  equity,  the  pleader  hath  more  ad- 
vantages than  in  the  first  case,  and  fewer  thaii  in  the  second. 

Again,  in  the  deliberations  in  the  Senate,  the  utility  or  the 
disadvantages  that  will  probably  follow  on  a  measure  pro- 
posed, if  it  should  receive  the  sanction  of  the  Legislature, 
constitute  the  principal  topics  of  debate.  This,  though  it 
sometimes  leads  to  a  kind  of  reasoning  rather  too  comi)lex 
and  involved  for  ordinary  apprehension,  is,  in  the  main,  more 
favourable  to  the  display  of  pathos,  vehemence,  and  sublimi- 
ty, than  the  much  greater  part  of  forensic  causes  can  be  said 
to  be.  That  these  qualities  Iiave  been  sometimes  found  in  a 
very  high  degree  in  the  orations  pronounced  in  the  British 
Senate,  is  a  fact  incontrovertible. 

But  beyond  all  question,  the  preacher's  subject  of  argu- 
ment, considered  in  itself,  is  infinitely  more  lofty  and  more 
aflTecting.  The  doctrines  of  religion  are  such  as  relate  to 
God,  the  adorable  Creator  and  Ruler  of  the  world,  his  attri- 
butes, government,  and  laws.  What  science  to  be  compared 
with  it  in  sublimity !  It  teaches,  also,  the  origin  of  man,  his 
primitive  dignity,  the  source  of  his  degeneracy,  the  means  of 
his  recovery,  the  eternal  happiness  tiiat  awaits  the  good,  and 
the  future  misery  of  the  impenitent.  Is  there  any  kind  of 
knowledge  in  which  human  creatures  are  so  deeply  interest- 
ed"? In  a  word,  whether  v/e  consider  the  doctrines  of  reli- 
gion or  its  documents,  the  e'xamples  it  holds  forth  to  our  imi- 
tation, or  its  motives,  promises,  and  threatenings,  we  see  on 
every  hand  a  subject  that  gives  scope  for  the  exertion  of  all 
the  highest  powers  of  rhetoric.  What  are  the  sanctions  of 
any  human  lav/s  compared  with  the  sanctions  of  the  Divine 
law,  with  which  we  are  brought  acquainted  by  the  Gospel? 
Or  where  shall  we  find  instructions,  similitudes,  and  exam- 
ples that  speak  so  directly  Vo  the  heart  as  the  parables  and 
other  divine  lessons  of  our  blessed  Lord^ 


128  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

In  regard  to  the  second  thing  which  1  took  notice  of  as  in- 
cluded luider  the  general  term  subject,  namely,  the  persons  or 
thhigs  in  whose  favour  or  to  whose  j)rejudice  the  speaker  in- 
tends to  excite  the  passions  of  the  audience,  and  thereby  to 
influence  their  determinations,  the  other  two  liave  commonly 
the  advantage  of  the  preacher.  The  reason  is,  tliat  his  sub- 
ject is  geneially  things;  theirs,  on  the  contrary,  is  persons. 
In  what  regards  the  painful  passions,  indignation,  hatred,  con- 
tempt, abhorrence,  tiiis  difference  invariably  obtains.  'I'he 
preacher's  business  is  solely  to  excite  your  detestation  of  the 
crime,  the  pleader's  business  is  principally  to  make  you  de- 
test the  criminal.  The  former  paints  vice  to  you  in  all  its 
odious  colours,  the  latter  paints  the  vicious.  There  is  a  de- 
gree of  abstraction,  and,  consequently,  a  much  greater  de- 
gree of  attention  requisite  to  enable  us  to  form  just  concep- 
tions of  the  ideas  and  sentiment;  of  the  former,  whereas  those 
of  the  latter,  referring  to  an  actual,  perluips  a  living,  present, 
and  well-known  subject,  are  much  more  level  to  common 
capacity,  and,  therefore,  not  only  are  more  easily  apprehend- 
ed by  the  understanding,  but  take  a  stronger  hold  of  the  ima- 
gination. It  would  have  been  impossible  even  for  Cicero  to 
inlipme  the  fJiinds  of  the  people  to  so  high  a  pilch  against  op- 
pression considered  in  the  abstract,  as  he  actually  did  inflame 
them  against  Verres  the  oppressor.  Nor  could  he  have  in- 
censed them  so  much  against  treason  and  conspiracy,  as  he  did 
incense  them  against  Catiline  the  traitor  and  conspirator.  The 
like  may  be  observed  of  the  effects  of  his  orations  against  An- 
tony, and  in  a  thousand  other  instances. 

Though  the  occasions  in  this  way  are  more  frequent  at  the 
bar,  yet,  as  the  deliberations  in  the  senate  often  proceed  on 
the  reputation  and  past  conduct  of  individuals,  there  is  com- 
monly here,  also,  a  much  better  handle  for  rousing  the  pas- 
sions than  that  enjoyed  by  the  preacher.  How  much  advan- 
tage Demosthenes  drew  from  the  known  character  and  insid- 
ious arts  of  Philip,  king  of  Macedon,  for  influencing  the 
resolves  of  the  Athenians  and  other  Grecian  states,  those 
Avho  are  acquainted  with  the  Philippics  of  the  orator,  and  the 
history  of  that  period,  will  be  very  sensible.  In  what  con- 
cerns the  pleasing  afTections,  the  preacher  may  sometimes, 
not  often,  avail  himself  of  real  human  characters,  as  in  fu- 
neral sermons,  and  in  discourses  on  the  patterns  of  virtue 
given  us  by  our  Saviour,  and  by  those  saints  of  whom  we 
have  the  history  in  the  sacred  code';  But  such  examples  are 
comparatively  few. 

SECTION  IV. 

IN    REGARD    TO    THE    OCCASION. 

The  fourth  circumstance  mentioned  as  a  ground  of  com- 


THE    PHir.OSOPHV    OF    RHETORIC.  129 

parison  is  the  particular  occasion  of  speakings ;  and  in  tliis  I 
think  it  evident  tluit  botli  ihe  pleader  and  tiie  senator  have 
the  advantage  of  the  preacher.  When  any  important  cause 
conies  to  be  tried  before  a  civil  judicatory,  or  when  any  im- 
portant question  comes  to  be  agitated  in  either  house  of  Par- 
liament, as  the  point  to  be  discussed  hath  generally,  for  sonif/ 
time  before,  been  a  topic  of  conversation  in  most  companies, 
perhaps,  throughout  the  kingdom  (vviiich  of  itself  is  sufhcient 
to  give  consequence  to  anything),  people  are  apprized  before- 
hand of  the  particular  day  fixed  for  the  discussion.  Accord- 
ingly, they  come  prepared  with  some  knowledge  of  the  case, 
a  persuasion  of  its  importance,  and  a  curiosity  which  sharp- 
ens llieir  attention,  and  assists  both  their  understanding  and 
their  memory. 

Men  go  to  church  without  any  of  these  advantages.  The 
subject  of  the  sermon  is  not  known  to  the  congregation  till 
the  minister  announces  it,  just  as  he  begins,  by  reading  the 
text.  Now,  from  our  experience  of  human  nature,  we  may 
be  sensible  that  whatever  be  the  comparative  importance  of 
the  things  themselves,  the  generality  of  men  cannot  be  here 
wrought  up  in  an  instant  to  the  like  anxious  curiosity  about 
what  is  to  be  said,  nor  can  they  be  so  well  prepared  for  hear- 
ing it.  It  may,  indeed,  be  urged,  in  regard  to  those  subjects 
which  come  regularly  to  be  discussed  at  stated  times,  as  on 
public  festivals,  as  well  as  in  regard  to  assize  sermons,  char- 
ity sermons,  and  other  occasional  discourses,  that  these  must 
be  admitted  as  exceptions.  Perhaps  in  some  degree  they  are, 
but  not  altogether;  for,  first,  the  precise  point  to  be  argued, 
or  proposition  to  be  evinced,  is  very  rarely  known.  The  most 
that  we  can  say  is,  that  the  subject  will  have  a  relation  (some- 
times remote  enough)  to  such  an  article  of  faith,  or  to  the  ob- 
ligations we  lie  under  to  the  practice  of  such  a  duty.  But, 
farther,  if  the  topic  were  ever  so  well  known,  the  frequent 
recurrence  of  such  occasions,  once  a  year  at  least,  hath  long 
famiUarized  us  to  them,  and  by  destroying  their  novelty,  hath 
abated  exceedingly  of  that  ardour  which  ariseth  in  the  mind 
for  hearing  a  discussion  conceived  to  be  of  importance,  which 
one  never  had  access  to  hear  before,  and  probably  never  will 
have  access  to  hear  again. 

I  shall  here  take  notice  of  another  cnxumstance,  which, 
without  great  stretch,  may  be  classed  under  this  article,  and 
which  likewise  gives  some  advantage  to  the  counsellor  and 
the  senator.  It  is  the  opposition  and  contradiction  which 
they  expect  to  meet  with.  Opponents  sharpen  one  another, 
as  .iron  sharpeneth  iron.  There  is  not  the  same  spur  either 
to  exertion  in  the  speaker,  or  to  attention  in  the  hearer, 
where  there  is  no  conflict,  where  you  have  no  adversary  to 
encounter  on  equal  terms.  Mr.  Bickerstaff  would  have  made 
but  small  progress  in  the  science  of  defence,  by  pushing  at 


1 36  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

the  h  man  figure  which  he  had  chalked  upon  the  wall,*  in 
compv  fison  of  what  he  might  have  made  by  the  help  of  a  fel- 
low-cv,ml)alaiit  of  flesh  and  blood.  I  do  not,  however,  pre- 
tend that  these  cases  are  entirely  parallel.  The  whole  of  an 
adversary's  plea  may  be  perfectly  known,  and  may,  to  the 
satisfaction  of  every  reasonable  person,  be  perfectly  confu- 
ted, though  he  hath  not  been  heard  by  counsel  at  the  bar. 

SECTION  V 

IN  REGARD  TO  THE  END  IN  VIEW. 

The  fifth  and  last  particular  mentioned,  and,  indeed,  the 
most  important  of  them  all,  is  the  effect  in  each  species  in- 
tended to  be  produced.  The  primary  intention  of  preaching 
is  the  reformation  of  mankind.  The  grace  of  God,  that  bring- 
eth  salvation,  hath  appeared  to  all  men,  teaching  us  that,  denying 
ungodliness  and  icorldly  litsts,  we  should  live  soberly,  righteously, 
arid  godly  in  this  present  ivorld.\  Reformation  of  life  and  man- 
ners—of all  things  that  which  is  the  most  difficult  by  any 
means  whatever  to  effectuate  ;  I  may  add,  of  all  tasks  ever 
attempted  by  persuasion — that  which  has  the  most  frequent- 
ly baffled  its  power. 

What  is  the  task  of  any  other  orator  compared  with  this  T 
It  is  really  as  nothing  at  all,  and  hardly  deserves  to  be  named. 
An  unjust  judge,  gradually  worked  on  by  the  resistless  force 
of  human  eloquence,  may  be  persuaded,  against  his  inclina- 
tion, perhaps  against  a  previous  resolution,  to  pronounce  an 
equitable  sentence.  All  the  effect  on  him,  intended  by  the 
pleader,  was  merely  momentary.  The  orator  hath  had  the 
address  to  employ  the  time  allowed  him  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  secure  the  happy  moment.  Notwithstanding  this,  there 
may  be  no  real  change  wrought  upon  the  judge.  He  may 
continue  the  same  obdurate  wretch  he  was  before.  Nay,  if 
the  sentence  had  been  delayed  but  a  single  day  after  hearing 
the  cause,  he  would,  perhaps,  have  given  a  very  different 
award. 

Is  it,  to  be  wondered  at,  that  when  the  passions  of  the  peo 
pie  were  agitated  by  the  persuasive  powers  of  a  Demosthe- 
nes, while  the  thunder  of  his  eloquence  was  yet  sounding  in 
their  ears,  the  orator  should  be  absolute  master  of  their  re- 
solves ?  But  an  apostle  or  evangelist  (for  there  is  no  an- 
achronism in  a  i)are  supposition)  might  have  thus  addressed 
the  celebrated  Athenian  :  ■'  You  do,  indeed,  succeed  to  ad- 
miration, and  the  address  and  genius  which  you  display  in 
speaking  justly  entitle  you  to  our  praise.  IJut,  however 
great  the  consequences  may  be  of  the  measures  to  which,  by 
your  eloquence,  they  are  determined,  the  change  produced 
in  the  people  is  nothing,  or  next  to  nothing.  If  you  would 
•  Tattler.  +  Tit.,  li.,  11.  12- 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RnETORIC.  131 

be  ascertained  of  the  truth  of  this,  allow  the  assrembly  to 
disperse  immediately  after  hearing  you  ;  give  them  time  to 
cool,  and  then  collect  their  votes,  and  it  is  a  thousand  to  one 
you  shall  find  that  the  charm  is  dissolved.  But  very  diflerent 
is  the  purpose  of  the  Christian  orator.  It  is  not  a  momenta- 
ry, but  a  permanent  effect  at  which  he  aims.  It  is  not  an  im- 
mediate and  favourable  suffrage,  but  a  thorough  change  of 
heart  and  disposition  that  will  satisfy  his  view.  That  man 
would  need  to  be  possessed  of  oratory  superior  to  human  who 
would  efiectually  persuade  him  that  stole  to  steal  no  more, 
the  sensualist  to  forego  his  pleasui'es,  and  the  miser  hi.', 
hoards,  the  insolent  and  haughty  to  become  meek  and  jium- 
ble,  the  vindictive  forgiving,  the  cruel  and  unfeeling  mercifu. 
and  humane." 

I  may  add  to  these  considerations,  that  the  difficulty  lies 
not  only  in  the  permanency,  but  in  the  very  nature  of  the 
change  to  be  effected.  It  is  wonderful,  but  is  too  well  vouch- 
ed to  admit  a  doubt,  that  by  the  powers  of  rhetoric  you  may 
produce  in  mankind  almost  any  change  more  easily  than 
this.  It  is  not  unprecedented,  that  one  should  persuade  a 
multitude,  from  mistaken  motives  of  religion,  to  act  the  part 
of  ruffians,  fools,  or  madmen  ;  to  perpetuate  the  most  ex- 
travagant, nay,  the  most  flagitious  actions  ;  to  steel  their 
hearts  against  humanity,  and  the  loudest  calls  of  natural  af- 
fection; but  where  is  the  eloquence  thai  will  gain  such  an 
ascendant  over  a  multitude  as  to  persuade  them,  for  the  love 
of  God,  to  be  wise,  and  just,  and  good  ?  Happy  the  preacher 
whose  sermons,  by  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  have  been  instru- 
mental in  producing  even  a  few  such  instances  !  Do  but 
look  into  the  annals  of  Church  History,  and  you  will  soon  be 
convinced  of  the  surprising  difference  there  is  in  the  two 
cases  mentioned,  the  amazing  facility  of  the  one,  and  the  al- 
most impossibility  of  the  other. 

As  to  the  foolisii  or  mad  extravagances,  hurtful  only  to 
themselves,  to  which  numbers  may  be  excited  by  the  powers 
of  persuasion,  the  history  of  the  F'lagcUants,  and  even  the 
history  of  Moiiachism,  afford  many  unqu»»nionable  examples. 
But,  what  is  much  worse,  at  one  time  you  see  Europe  nearly 
depopulated  at  the  persuasion  of  a  fanatical  monk,  its  inhabi- 
tants rushing  armed  into  Asia,  in  order  to  fight  for  Jesus 
Christ,  as  they  termed  it,  but  as  it  proved,  in  fact,  to  disgrace, 
as  far  as  lay  in  them,  the  name  of  Christ  and  of  Christian 
among  infidels  :  to  butcher  those  who  never  injured  them, 
and  to  whose  lands  they  had  at  least  no  belter  title  than  those 
whom  they  intended,  by  all  possible  means,  to  dispossess ; 
and  to  give  the  world  a  melancholj'  proof  that  there  is  no 
pitch  of  brutality  and  rapacity  to  which  the  passions  of  ava- 
rice and  ambition,  consecrated  and  inflamed  by  religious  en- 
thusiasm, will  not  drive  mankind.     At  another  time  you  see 


132  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

niultitudes,  by  the  like  methods,  worked  up  into  a  fury  against 
their  innocent  countrymen,  neiglibours,  friends,  and  kinsmen, 
glorying  in  being  the  most  active  in  culling  the  throats  of 
those  who  were  formerly  held  dear  to  them. 

Such  were  tlie  Crusades,  preached  up  but  too  effectually, 
first  against  the  Mohammedans  in  the  East,  and  next  against 
Christians,  whom  they  called  heretics,  in  the  heart  of  Europe. 
And  even  in  our  own  time,  have  we  not  seen  new  factions 
raised  by  popular  declaimers,  whose  only  merit  was  impu- 
dence, whose  only  engine  of  influence  was  calumny  and 
self-praise,  whose  "only  moral  lesson  was  malevolence  1  As 
to  the  dogmas  whereby  such  have  at  any  time  affected  to 
discriminate  themselves,  these  are  commonly  no  other  than 
the  shibboleth,  the  watchword  of  the  party,  worn,  for  distinc- 
tion's sake,  as  a  badge,  a  jargon  unintelligible  alike  to  the 
teacher  and  to  the  learner.  8uch  apostles  never  failed  to 
make  proselytes.  For  who  would  not  purchase  heaven  at 
so  cheap  a  rate  ?  There  is  nothing  that  people  can  more 
easily  afford.  It  is  only  to  think  very  well  of  their  leader 
and  of  themselves,  to  think  very  ill  of  their  neighbour,  to  ca- 
lumniate him  freely,  and  to  hate  him  heartily. 

I  am  sensible  that  some  will  imagine  that  this  account  it 
self  throws  an  insuperable  obstacle  in  our  way,  as  from  it  one 
will  naturally  infer  thai  oratory  must  be  one  of  the  most  dan- 
gerous things  in  the  world,  and  much  more  capable  of  doing 
ill  than  good.  It  needs  but  some  reflection  to  make  tliis 
mighty  obstacle  entirely  vanish.  Very  little  eloquence  is 
necessary  for  persuading  people  to  a  conduct  to  which  their 
own  depravity  hath  previously  given  them  a  bias.  How 
soothing  is  it  to  them  not  only  to  have  their  minds  made  easy 
under  the  indulged  malignity  of  their  disposition,  but  to  have 
that  very  malignity  sanctified  with  a  good  name.  So  little  ol 
the  oratorical  talent  is  required  here,  that  those  who  court 
popular  applause,  and  look  upon  it  as  the  pinnacle  of  human 
glory  to  be  blindly  followed  by  the  multitude,  commonly  re- 
cur to  defamation,  especially  of  superiors  and  brethren,  not 
so  much  for  a  subject  on  which  they  may  display  their  elo- 
quence, as  for  a  succedaneum  to  supply  their  want  o{  elo- 
quence— a  succedaneum  which  never  yet  w-as  found  to  fail. 
I  knew  a  preacher  who,  by  this  expedient  alone,  from  being 
long  the  aversion  of  the  populace  on  account  of  his  dulness, 
awkwardness,  and  coldness,  all  of  a  sudden  became  their 
idol.  Little  force  is  necessary  to  push  down  heavy  bodies 
placed  on  the  verge  of  a  declivity,  but  much  force  is  requi- 
site to  stop  them  in  their  progress  and  push  them  up. 

If  a  man  should  say  that,  because  the  first  is  more  fre- 
quently effected  than  the  last,  it  is  the  best  trial  of  strength, 
and  the  only  suitable  use  to  which  it  can  be  applied,  we  should 
at  least  not  think  him  remarkable  for  distinctness  in  his  ideas 


THE    PHILOSOPHY     OP    RIIETORIC.  133 

Popularity  alone,  tjiercfore,  is  no  test  at  all  of  the  eloquence 
of  the  speaker,  no  more  than  velocity  alone  would  be  of  the 
force  of  the  external  impulse  originally  given  to  the  body 
moving.  As  in  this  the  direction  of  the  body  and  other  cir- 
cumstances must  be  taken  into  the  account,  so  in  that,  you 
must  consider  the  tendency  of  the  teaching,  whether  it  fa- 
vours or  opposes  ihe  vices  of  the  hearers.  To  head  a  sect, 
to  infuse  party  spirit,  to  make  men  arrogant,  uncharitable, 
and  malevolent,  is  the  easiest  task  imaginable,  and  to  which 
almost  any  blockhead  is  fully  equal.  But  to  produce  the  con- 
trary effect;  to  subdue  the  spirit  of  faction,  and  that  monster 
spiritual  pride,  with  which  it  is  invariably  accompanied  ;  to 
inspire  equity,  moderation,  and  charity  into  men's  sentiments 
and  conduct  with  regard  to  others,  is  the  genuine  test  of  elo- 
quence. Here  its  triumph  is  truly  glorious,  and  in  its  appli- 
cation to  this  end  lies  its  great  utility : 

"The  gates  of  hell  are  open  night  nncl  day  ; 
Smooth  the  descent,  and  easy  is  Ihe  way  ; 
But  to  return  and  view  the  cheerAi!  skies — 
Jn  this  the  task  and  mighty  labour  lies."'' — Dryden. 

Now  in  regard  to  the  comparison,  from  which  I  fear  T  shall 
be  thouglit  to  have  digressed,  between  tlie  forensic  and  sena- 
torian  eloquence  and  that  of  the  pulpit,  I  must  not  omit  to  ob 
serve,  that  in  what  I  say  of  the  difference  of  the  effect  to  be 
produced  by  the  last-mentioned  species,  I  am  to  he  under- 
stood as  speaking  of  the  effect  intended  by  preaching  in  gen- 
eral, and  even  of  that  which,  in  whole  or  in  part,  is,  or  ought 
to  be,  either  more  immediately  or  more  remotely,  the  scope 
of  all  discourses  proceeding  from  the  pulpit.  I  am.  at  the 
same  time,  sensible  that  in  some  of  these,  besides  the  ulti- 
mate view,  there  is  an  immediate  and  outward  effect  which 
the  sermon  is  intended  to  produce.  This  is  the  case  particu- 
larly in  charity-sermons,  and  perhaps  some  other  occasional 
discourses.  Now  of  these  few,  in  respect  of  such  immediate 
purpose,  we  must  admit  that  they  bear  a  pretty  close  analogy 
to  the  pleadings  of  the  advocate  and  the  orations  of  the  sena- 
tor. 

Upon  the  whole  of  the  comparison  I  have  stated,  it  appears 
manifest  that,  in  most  of  the  particulars  above  enumerated, 
the  preacher  labours  under  a  very  great  disadvantage.  He 
hath  himself  a  more  delicate  part  to  perform  than  either  the 
pleader  or  the  senator,  and  a  character  to  maintain  which  is 
much  more  easily  injured.  'I'he  auditors,  though  rarely  so 
accomphshed  as  to  require  the  same  accuracy  of  composition 

"  Facilis  descensus  Averni : 
Noctes  atque  dies  patet  atri  janua  Ditis  : 
Sed  revocare  gradum,  superasque  evadere  ad  auras 
Hie  labor,  hoc  opus  est." — Virg.,  hb.  vi. 
M 


134  THE    PHILOS^^'Y    OF    RHETORIC. 

or  acuteness  in  reasoning  as  may  be  expected  in  the  other 
two.  are  more  various  in  age,  rank,  taste,  inclinations,  senti- 
ments, prejudices,  to  which  he  must  accommodate  himself. 
And  if  he  derives  some  advantages  from  the  richness,  the  va- 
riety, and  the  nobleness  of  the  principles,  motives,  and  argu- 
ments with  which  his  subject  furnishes  him,  he  derives  also 
some  inconveniences  from  this  circumstance,  that  almost  the 
only  engine  by  which  he  can  operate  on  the  passions  of  his 
hearers  is  the  exhibition  of  abstract  qualities,  virtues,  and  vi- 
ces, whereas  that  chiefly  employed  by  other  orators  is  the 
exhibition  of  real  persons,  the  virtuous  and  the  vicious.  Nor 
are  the  occasions' of  his  addresses  to  the  people  equally  fit- 
ted with  those  of  the  senator  and  of  the  pleader  for  exciting 
their  curiosity  and  riveting  their  attention.  And,  finally,  the 
task  assigned  him,  the  effect  which  he  ought  ever  to  have  in 
view,  is  so  great,  so  important,  so  durable,  as  seems  to  bid 
defiance  to  the  strongest  efforts  of  oratorical  genius. 

Nothing  is  more  common  than  for  people,  I  suppose  with- 
out reflecting,  to  express  their  wonder  that  there  is  so  httle 
eloquence  among  our  preachers,  and  that  so  little  success  at- 
tends their  preaching.  As  to  the  last,  their  success,  it  is  a 
matter  not  to  be  ascertained  with  so  much  precision  as  some 
appear  fondly  to  imagine.  The  evil  prevented,  as  well  as  the 
good  promoted,  ought  here,  in  all  justice,  to  come  into  the 
reckoning;  and  what  that  may  be,  it  is  impossible  in  any 
supposed  circumstances  to  determine.  As  to  the  first,  their 
eloquence,  I  acknowledge  that,  for  my  own  part,  considering 
how  rare  the  talent  is  among  men  in  general ;  considering  all 
the  disadvantages  preachers  labour  under,  not  only  those 
above  enumerated,  but  others,  arising  from  their  different 
situations  ;  particularly  considering  the  frequency  of  this  ex 
ercise.  together  with  the  other  duties  of  their  office,  to  which 
the  fixed  pastors  are  obliged,  I  have  been  for  a  long  time 
more  disposed  to  wonder  that  we  hear  so  many  instructivp 
and  even  eloquent  sermons,  than  that  we  hear  so  few. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

OF  THE  CAUSE  OF  THAT  PLEASURE  WHICH  WE  RECEIVE  FROM 
OBJECTS  OR  REPRESENTATIONS  THAT  EXCITE  PITY  AND  OTHER 
PAINFUL    FEELINGS. 

It  hath  been  observed  already,*  that  without  some  gratifi- 
cation in  hearing,  the  attention  must  inevitably  flag;  and  it 

*  Chapter  iv. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORrC.  135 

is  manifest  from  experience,  that  nothing  tends  more  effectu- 
ally to  prevent  this  consequence,  and  keep  our  attentiou  alive 
and  vigorous,  than  the  pathetic,  which  consists  chiefly  in  ex- 
hibitions of  human  misery.  Yet  that  such  exhibitions  should 
so  highly  gratify  us,  appears  somewhat  mysterious.  Evevy- 
body  is  sensible  that,  of  all  qualities  in  a  work  of  genius,  this 
is  that  which  endears  it  most  to  the  generality  of  readers. 
One  would  imagine,  on  the  first  mention  of  this,  that  it  were 
impossible  to  account  for  it  otherwise  than  from  an  innate 
principle  of  malice,  which  teacheth  us  to  extract  delight  to 
ourselves  from  the  sufferings  of  others,  and,  as  it  were,  to  en- 
joy their  calamities.  A  very  little  reflection,  however,  would 
suffice  for  correcting  this  error;  nay,  without  any  reflection, 
we  may  truly  say  that  the  common  sense  of  mankind  pre- 
vents them  effectually  front  falling  into  it.  Bad  as  we  are, 
and  prone  as  we  are  to  be  hurried  into  the  worst  of  passions 
by  self-love,  partiality,  and  pride,  malice  is  a  disposition 
which,  either  in  the  abstract,  or  as  it  discovers  itself  in  the 
actions  of  an  indifferent  person,  we  never  contemplate  with- 
out feeling  a  just  detestation  and  abhorrence,  being  ready  to 
pronounce  it  the  ugliest  of  objects.  Yet  this  sentiment  is 
not  more  universal  than  is  the  approbation  and  even  love  that 
we  bestow  on  the  tender-hearted,  or  those  who  are  most  ex- 
quisitely susceptible  of  all  the  influence  of  the  pathetic.  Nor 
are  there  any  two  dispositions  of  which  human  nature  is  ca- 
pable, that  have  ever  been  considered  as  farther  removed 
from  each  oiher  than  the  malicious  and  the  compassionate 
are.  The  fact  itself,  that  the  mind  derives  pleasure  from 
representations  of  anguish,  is  undeniable ;  the  question  about 
the'cause  is  curious,  and  hath  a  manifest  relation  to  my  sub- 
ject. 

I  purposed,  indeed,  at  first,  to  discuss  this  point  in  that  part 
of  the  sixth  chapter  which  relates  to  the  means  of  operating 
on  the  passions,  with  which  the  present  inquiry  is  intimately 
connected.  Finding  afterward  that  the  discussion  would 
prove  rather  too  long  an  interruption,  and  that  the  other 
points  which  came  naturally  to  be  treated  in  that  place  could 
be  explained  with  sufficient  clearness  independently  of  this, 
I  judged  it  better  to  reserve  this  question  for  a  separate 
chapter.  Various  hypotheses  have  been  devised  by  the  in- 
genious in  order  to  solve  the  difficulty.  These  1  sliall  first 
briefly  examine,  and  then  lay  before  the  reader  what  appears 
to  me  to  be  the  true  solution.  Of  all  that  have  entered  into 
the  subject,  those  who  seem  most  to  merit  our  regard  are 
two  French  critics,  and  one  of  our  own  country. 


136  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 


SECTION  I. 

THE    DIFFERENT     SOLtJTIONS    HITHERTO     GIVEN     BY     PHILOSl  PHERB    EX- 
AMINED. 

Part  I.   The  First  Hi/potliesis. 

Abbe  du  Bos  begins  his  excellent  reflections  on  poetry  and 
painting  with  that  very  question  which  is  the  subject  of  this 
chapter,  and  in  answer  to  it  supports  at  some  length*  a  the- 
ory, tlie  substance  of  which  1  shall  endeavour  to  comprise  in 
a  few  words.  Few  things,  according  to  him,  are  more  disa- 
greeable to  the  mind  than  that  listlcssness  into  which  it  falls 
when  it  has  nothing  to  occupy  it  or  to  awake  tlie  passions. 
In  order  to  get  rid  of  this  most  painful  situation,  it  seeks 
with  avidity  every  amusement  and  pursuit ;  business,  ga- 
ming, news,  shows,  public  executions,  romances  ;  in  short, 
whatever  will  rouse  the  passions,  and  take  off  the  mind's  at- 
tention from  itself.  It  matters  not  what  the  emotion  be, 
only  the  stronger  it  is,  so  much  the  better ;  and  for  this  rea- 
son, those  passions  which,  considered  in  themselves,  are  the 
most  afflicting  and  disagreeable,  are  preferable  to  the  pleas- 
ant, inasmuch  as  ihey  most  effectually  relieve  the  soul  from 
that  oppressive  languor  which  preys  upon  it  in  a  state  of  in- 
activity. They  afford  it  ample  occupation,  and  by  giving 
play  to  its  latent  movements  and  springs  of  action,  convey  a 
pleasure  which  more  than  counterbalances  the  pain. 

I  admit,  with  Mr.  Hume,t  that  there  is  some  weight  in 
these  observations,  which  may  sufficiently  account  for  the 
pleasure  taken  in  gaming,  hunting,  and  several  other  diver- 
sions and  sports.  But  they  are  not  quite  satisfactory,  as 
they  do  not  assign  a  sufficient  reason  why  poets,  painters, 
and  orators  exercise  themselves  more  in  actuating  the  pain- 
ful passions  than  in  exciting  the  pleasant.  These,  one  would 
think,  ouglit  in  every  respect  to  have  the  advantage,  because, 
at  the  same  time  that  they  preserve  the  mind  from  a  state 
of  inaction,  they  convey  a  feeling  that  is  allowed  to  be  agree- 
able ;  and  though  it  were  granted  that  passions  of  the  former 
kind  are  stronger  than  those  of  the  latter  (which  doth  not  hold 
invariably,  there  being,  perhaps,  more  examples  of  persons 
who  have  been  killed  with  joy  than  of  those  who  have  died  of 
grief),  strength  alone  will  not  account  for  the  preference.  It 
by  no  means  holds  here,  that  the  stronger  the  emotion  is,  so 
much  the  fitter  for  tliis  purpose.  On  the  contrary,  if  you 
exceed  but  ever  so  little  a  certain  measure,  instead  of  that 
sympathetic,  delightful  sorrow  which  makes  affliction  itself 
wear  a  lovely  aspect,  and  engages  the  mind  to  hug  it,  not 
only  with  tenderness,  but  with  transport,  you  only  excite 

*  Reflexions  CriiiqueS  sur  la  Poesie  et  sur  la  Peinture,  sect,  j.,  ii.,  iii. 
t  Essay  on  Tragedy. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  137 

horror  and  aversion.  "  It  is  certain,"  says  the  author  hist 
quoted,  very  justly,*  "  that  the  same  ohject  of  distress  which 
pleases  in  a  tragedy,  were  it  really  set  before  us,  would  give 
the  most  unfeigned  uneasiness,  though  it  be  tiien  the  most 
effectual  cure  of  languor  and  indolence."  And  it  is  more 
than  barely  possible,  even  in  the  representations  of  tlie  tra- 
gedian, or  in  the  descriptions  of  the  orator  or  the  poet,  to 
exceed  that  measure.  I  acknowledge,  indeed,  that  this  meas- 
ure or  degree  is  not  the  same  to  every  temper.  Some  are 
much  sooner  shocked  with  mournful  representations  tlian 
others.  Our  mental,  like  our  bodily  appetites  and  capacities, 
are  exceedingly  various.  It  is,  however,  the  business  of  both 
the  speaker  and  the  writer  to  accommodate  himself  to  what 
may  be  styled  the  common  standard  ;  for  there  is  a  common 
standard  in  what  regards  the  faculties  of  the  mind,  as  well 
as  in  what  concerns  the  powers  of  the  body.  Now  if  there 
be  any  quality  in  the  afflictive  passions,  besides  their  strength, 
that  renders  them  peculiarly  adapted  to  rescue  the  mind  from 
that  torpid,  but  corrosive  rest  which  is  considered  as  the 
greatest  of  evils,  that  quality  ought  to  have  been  pointed  out ; 
for  till  then,  the  phenomenon  under  examination  is  not  ac- 
counted for.  The  most  that  can  be  concluded  from  the  ab- 
be's premises  is  the  utility  of  exciting  passion  of  some  kind 
or  other,  but  nothing  that  can  evince  the  stiperior  fitness  of 
the  distressful  affections. 

Part  II.  The  Second  Hypothesis. 
The  next  hypothesis  is  Fontenelle's.f  Not  having  the  ori- 
ginal at  hand  at  present,  I  shall  give  Mr.  Hume's  translation 
of  the  passage,  in  his  Essay  on  Tragedy  above  quoted. 
*'  Pleasure  and  pain,  which  are  two  sentiments  so  different 
in  tiiemselves,  differ  not  so  much  in  their  cause.  From  the 
instance  of  tickling,  it  appears  that  the  movement  of  pleasure, 
pushed  a  little  too  far,  becomes  pain  ;  and  that  the  move- 
ment of  pain,  a  little  moderated,  becomes  pleasure.  Hence 
it  proceeds  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  sorrow  soft  and 
agreeable.  It  is* a  pain  weakened  and  diminished.  The 
heart  likes  naturally  to  be  moved  and  affected.  Melancholy- 
objects  suit  it,  and  even  disastrous  and  sorrowful,  provided 
they  are  softened  by  some  circumstance.  It  is  certain  that, 
on  the  theatre,  the  representation  has  almost  the  effect  of  re- 
ality ;  but  yet  it  has  not  altogether  that  effect.  However  we 
may  be  hurried  away  by  the  spectacle,  whatever  dominion 
the  senses  and  imagination  may  usurp  over  the  reason,  there 
still  lurks  at  the  bottom  a  certain  idea  of  falsehood  in  the 
whole  of  what  we  see.  This  idea,  though  weak  and  dis- 
guised, suffices  to  diminish  the  pain  which  we  suffer  from 
the  misfortunes  of  those  whom  we  love,  and  to  reduce  that 

*  Essay  on  Tragedy.  t  Reflexions  siir  la  Poetique,  sect,  xxxvi. 

M  2 


138  THE    PHILOSdPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

affliction  to  such  a  pitch  as  converts  it  into  a  pleasure.  We 
weep  for  the  misfortunes  of  a  liero  to  whom  we  are  attached. 
In  the  same  instant  we  comfort  ourselves  by  reflecting  that 
it  is  nothing  but  a  fiction  ;  and  it  is  precisely  that  mixture  of 
sentiments  which  composes  an  agreeable  sorro.w,  and  tears 
that  delight  us.  But  as  that  affliction  which  is  caused  by 
exterior  and  sensible  objects  is  stronger  than  the  consola- 
tion which  arises  from  an  internal  reflection,  they  are  the 
effects  and  symptoms  of  sorrow  which  ought  to  prevail  in 
the  composition." 

I  cannot  affirm  that  this  solution  appears  to  me  so  just  and 
convincing  as  it  seems  it  did  to  Mr.  Hume.  If  tliis  English 
version,  like  a  faithful  mirror,  reflect  the  true  image  of  the 
French  original,  I  think  the  author  in  some  degree  chargeable 
with  what,  in  that  language,  is  emphatically  enough  styled 
verbiage,  a  manner  of  writing  very  common  with  those  of  his 
nation,  and  with  their  imitators  in  ours.  The  only  truth  that 
I  can  discover  in  his  hypothesis  lies  in  one  small  circum- 
stance, which  is  so  far  from  being  applicable  to  the  whole 
case  under  consideration,  that  it  can  properly  be  applied  but 
to  a  very  few  particular  instances,  and  is  therefore  no  solution 
at  all.  That  there  are  at  least  many  cases  to  which  it  can- 
not be  applied,  the  author  last  mentioned  declares  himself  to 
be  perfectly  sensible. 

But  let  us  examine  the  passage  more  narrowly.  He  be- 
gins with  laying  it  down  as  a  general  principle,  that  howev- 
er different  the  feelings  of  pleasure  and  of  pain  in  themselves, 
they  differ  not  much  in  their  cause  ;  tliat  the  movement  of 
pleasure,  pushed  a  little  too  far,  becomes  pain  ;  and  that  the 
movement  of  pain,  a  little  moderated,  becomes  pleasure.  For 
aii  illustration  of  this,  he  gives  an  example  in  tickling.  I 
will  admit  that  there  are  several  other  similar  instances  in 
which  the  observation  to  appearance  holds.  The  warmth 
received  from  sitting  near  the  fire,  by  one  who  hath  been  al- 
most chilled  with  cold,  is  very  pleasing;  yet  you  may  in- 
crease this  warmth,  first  to  a  disagreeabl^heat,  and  then  to 
burning,  which  is  one  of  the  greatest  torments.  It  is  never- 
theless extremely  hai;aruoiis,  on  a  few  instances,  and  those 
not  perfectly  parallel  to  the  case  in  hand,  to  found  a  general 
theory.  Let  us  make  the  experiment  how  the  application  of 
this  doctrine  to  the  passions  of  the  mind  will  answer.  And 
for  our  greater  security  against  mistake,  let  us  begin  with 
the  simplest  cases  in  the  direct,  and  not  in  the  reflex  or  sym- 
pathetic passions,  in  which  hardly  ever  any  feeling  or  affec- 
tion comes  alone.  A  merchant  loseth  all  his  fortune  by  a 
shipwreck,  and  is  reduced  at  one  stroke  from  opulence  to 
indigence.  His  grief,  we  may  suppose,  will  be  very  violent. 
If  he  had  lost  half  his  stock  only,  it  is  natural  to  think  he 
would  have  borne  the  loss  more  easily,  though  still  he  would 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC.  139 

have  l)een  nffected— perliaps  the  loss  of  fifty  pounds  he  would 
scarcely  have  felt — but  I  should  be  glad  to  know  how  unich 
the  monement  or  passion  must  be  moderated ;  or,  in  other 
words,  as  the  difference  ariseth  solely  from  the  different  de- 
gress of  the  cause,  how  small  the  loss  nmst  he  when  the  sen- 
timent or  feeling  of  it  begins  to  be  converted  into  a  real  pleas- 
ure ;  for  to  me  it  doth  not  appear  natural  that  any  the  most 
trifling  loss,  were  it  of  a  single  shilling,  should  be  "the  subject 
of  positive  delight. 

But  to  try  another  instance  :  a  gross  and  public  insult  com- 
monly provokes  a  very  high  degree  of  resentment,  and  gives 
a  most  pungent  vexation  to  a  person  of  sensibility.  I  would 
gladly  know  whether  a  smaller  affront,  or  some  slight  in- 
stance of  neglect  or  contempt,  gives  such  a  person  any  pleas- 
ure. Try  the  experiment  also  on  friendship  and  hatred,  and 
you  will  find  the  same  success.  As  the  warmest  friendship 
is  highly  agreeable  to  the  mind,  the  slightest  liking  is  also 
agreeable,  though  in  a  less  degree.  Perfect  hatred  is  a  kind 
of  torture  to  the  breast  that  harbours  it,  wliich  will  not  be 
found  capable  of  being  mitigated  into  pleasure  ;  for  there  is 
no  degj-ee  of  ill-will  without  pain.  The  gradation  in  the 
cause  and"1n  tile  effect  are  entirely  correspondent. 

Nor  can  any  just  conclusion  be  drawn  irom  the  affections 
of  the  body,  as  in  these  the  consequence  is  often  solely  im- 
putable to  a  certain  proportion  of  strength  in  the  cause  that 
operates,  to  the  present  disposilionof  the  organs.  But  though 
I  cannot  find  that  in  any  uncompounded  passion  the  most  re- 
mote degrees  are  productive  of  such  contrary  effects,  I  do 
not  deny  that  when  different  passions  arc  blended,  some  of 
tliem  pleasing  and  some  painful,  the  pleasure  or  the  pain  of 
those  which  predominate  may,  through  the  wonderful  mech- 
anism* of  our  mental  frame,  be  considerably  augmented  by 
the  mixture. 

The  only  truth  which,  as  I  hinted  already,  I  can  discover 
in  the  preceding  hypothesis,  is,  that  the  mind  in  certain  cases 
avails  itself  of  i:he  notion  of  falsehood  in  order  to  prevent  the 
representation  or  narrative  from  producing  too  strong  an  ef- 
fect upon  the  imagination,  and,  consequently,  to  relieve  itself 
from  such  an  excess  of  passion  as  could  not  otherwise  fail 
to  be  painful.  But  let  it  be  observed  that  this  notion  is  not 
a  necessary  concomitant  of  the  pleasure  that  results  from 
pity  and  other  such  affections,  but  is  merely  accidental.  Jt 
was  remarked  above,  that  if  the  pathetic  exceeds  a  certain 

*  The  wonl  mrtchanism,  applied  to  the  mind,  ought  not  reasonably  to 
jive  o(]lence  to  -iny.  I  only  use  llie  term  metaphorically  for  those  eii'ects 
n  the  operation  oi'  ihe  mental  (acuities  produced  in  con!=eqiience  of  such 
*ixed  laws  as  are  independent  of  the  will.  It  hatii  here,  therefore,  no  refer 
«nce  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Materialists,  a  system  which,  in  my  opinion,  i.s 
not  only  untenable,  but  absurd. 


140  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OP   RHETORIC. 

measure,  from  being  very  pleasant  it  becomes  very  painful. 
Then  the  mind  recurs  to  every  expedient,  and  to  disbelief 
among  others,  by  which  it  may  be  enabled  to  disburjjeu  itself 
of  what  distresselh  it;  and,  indeed,  whenever  this  recourse 
is  had  by  any,  it  is  a  sure  indication  that,  w  ith  regard  to  sucii, 
the  poet,  orator,  or  historian  hath  exceeded  the  proper  meas- 
ure. 

But  that  this  only  holds  when  we  are  too  deeply  interested 
by  the  sympathetic  sorrow,  will  appear  from  the  following 
considerations:  first,  from  the  great  pains  often  taken  by 
writers  (whose  design  is  certainly  not  to  shock,  but  to  please 
their  readers)  to  make  the  most  moving  stories  they  relate 
be  firmly  believed  ;  secondly,  from  the  tendency,  nay,  fond- 
ness, of  the  generality  of  mankind  to  believe  what  moves 
them,  and  their  averseness  to  be  convinced  that  it  is  a  fiction. 
This  can  result  only  from  tlie  consciousness  that,  in  ordina- 
ry cases,  disbelief,  by  weakening  liieir  pity,  would  diminish, 
instead  of  increasing,  their  pleasure.  They  must  be  very 
far,  then,  from  entertaining  Kontenelle's  notion  that  it  is  ne- 
cessary to  the  producing  of  that  pleasure,  for  we  cannot  well 
suspect  them  of  a  plot  against  their  own  enjoyment;  tiiirdly, 
and  lastly,  from  the  delight  which  we  take  in  reading  or  hear- 
ing the  most  trag^ical  narrations  of  orators  and  historians,  of 
the  reality  of  which  we  entertain  no  doubt;  I  might  add,  in 
revolving  in  our  minds,  and  in  relating  to  others,  disastrous 
incidents  which  have  fallen  within  the  compass  of  our  own 
knowledge,  and  as  to  which,  consequently,  we  have  an  abso- 
lute assurance  of  the  fact. 

Part.  III.  The  Third  Hypothesis. 
The  third  hypothesis  which  I  shall  produce  on  this  .subject 
is  Mr.  Hume's;  only  it  ought  to  be  remarked  previously  that 
he  doth  not  propose  it  as  a  full  solution  of  the  question,  but 
rather  as  a  supplement  to  the  former  two,  in  the  doctrine  of 
both  which  he,  in  a  great  measure,  acquiesces.  Take  his 
theory  in  his  own  words.  He  begins  with  putting  the  ques- 
tion, "  Wiiat  is  it,  then,  which  in  this  case,"  that  is,  when  the 
sorrows  is  not  softened  by  fiction,  "  raises  a  pleasure  from  tlie 
bosom  of  uneasiness,  so  to  speak  ;  and  a  pleasure,  which  stili 
retains  all  the  features  and  outward  symptoms  of  distress  and 
sorrow  1  I  answer.  This  extraordinary  effect  proceeds  from 
that  very  eloquence  with  which  the  melancholy  scene  is  rep- 
resented. The  genius  required  to  paint  objects  in  a  lively 
manner,  the  art  employed  in  collecting  all  the  pathetic  cir- 
cumstances, the  judgment  displaj'ed  in  disposing  them — the 
exercise,  I  say^  of  these  noble  talents,  together  with  the  fon-e 
of  expression  and  beauty  of  oratorical  numbers,  difl'use  the 
highest  satisfaction  on  the  audience,  and  excite  the  most  de- 
lightful movements.     By  this  means,  the  uneasiness  of  the 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORHJ.  141 

melancholy  passions  is  not  only  overpou-orcd  and  efTacod  bj 
Bonictiiing  strongcrol' an  opposite  kind,  but  tli<;  wiiole  niove;- 
nient  of  those  passions  is  converted  into  picasiiie,  and  swells 
tlie  deliglit  which  the  eloquence  raises  in  us.  The  same 
force  of  oratory  employed  on  an  uninteresting  subject,  would 
not  please  half  so  much,  or,  rather,  would  appear  altogether 
ridiculous  ;  and  the  mind  being  left  in  absolute  calmness  or 
indifierence,  would  relish  none  of  those  beauties  of  imagina- 
tion or  expression  which,  if  joined  to  passion,  give  it  such  ex- 
quisite entertainment.  The  impulse  or  vehemence  arising 
from  sorrow,  compassion,  indignation,  receives  a  new  direc- 
tion from  the  sentiments  of  beauty.  The  latter,  being  the 
predominant  emotion,  seize  tlje  whole  mind,  and  convert  the 
former  into  themselves,  or,  at  least,  tincture  them  so  strong- 
ly as  totally  to  alter  their  nature  ;  and  the  soul  being  at  the 
same  lime  roused  by  passion  and  charmed  by  eloquence,  feels 
on  the  whole  a  strong  movement  which  is  altogether  de- 
lightful." 

I  am  sorry  to  say,  but  truth  compels  me  to  acknowledge, 
that  1  have  reaped  no  more  satisfaction  from  this  account  of 
the  matter  than  from  those  which  preceded  it.  I  could  have 
wished,  indeed,  that  the  author  had  been  a  little  more  explicit 
in  his  manner  of  expressing  himself,  for  I  am  not  certain  that 
I  perfectly  comprehend  his  meaning.  At  one  time  he  seems 
only  to  intend  to  say  that  it  is  the  purpose  of  eloquence,  to 
the  promoting  of  which  its  tropes  and  figures  are  wonderful- 
ly adapted,  to  infuse  into  the  mind  of  tlie  hearer  such  com- 
passion, sorrow,  indignation,  and  other  passions,  as  are,  not- 
withstanding their  original  character  when  abstractly  consid- 
ered, accompanied  sviili  pleasure.  At  another  time  it  appears 
rather  his  design  to  signify,  though  he  doth  not  plainly  s|)eak 
it  out,  that  the  discovery  made  by  the  hearer  of  the  admirable 
art  and  ingenuity  of  the  speaker,  and  of  the  elegance  and  har- 
mon}  of  what  is  spoken,  gives  that  peculiar  pleasure  to  the 
mind  which  makes  even  the  painful  passions  become  de- 
lightful. 

If  the  first  of  these  be  all  that  he  intended  to  affirm,  he 
hath  told  us,  indeed,  a  certain  triuh,  but  nothing  new  or  un- 
common ;  nay,  more,  he  hath  told  us  nothing  that  can  serve 
in  the  smallest  degree  for  a  solution  of  the  difficulty.  Who- 
ever doubted  that  it  is  the  design  and  work  of  eloquence  to 
move  the  passions  and  to  pleased  The  question  which  this 
naturally  gives  rise  to  is.  How  doth  eloquence  produce  this 
effect?  This,  1  believe,  it  will  be  acknowledged  to  do  prin- 
cipally, if  not  solely,  agreeablj  to  the  doctrine  explained 
above,*  by  communicating  livelj',  distinct,  and  strong  ideas 
of  the  distress  which  it  exhibits.     By  a  judicious  yd  natural 

*  Chap.  vi. 


142  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

arrangement  of  the  most  affecting  circumstances,  by  a  proper 
selection  of  the  most  suitable  tropes  and  figures,  it  enlivens 
the  ideas  raised  in  the  imagination  to  such  a  pitch  as  makes 
them  strongly  resemble  the  perceptions  of  the  senses  or  the 
transcripts  of  the  memory.  The  question,  then,  with  which 
we  are  immediately  concerned,  doth  obviously  recur,  and 
geems,  if  possible,  more  mysterious  than  before  ;  for  how  car 
the  agigravatingof  all  the  circumstances  of  misery  in  the  rep 
resentation  make  it  be  contemplated  with  pleasure  1  One 
would  naturally  imagine  that  this  must  be  the  most  effectual 
method  of  making  it  give  still  greater  pain.  How  can  the 
heightening  of  grief,  fear,  anxiety,  and  other  uneasy  sensa- 
tions, render  them  agreeable] 

Besides,  this  ingenious  author  has  not  adverted  that  his 
hypothesis,  instead  of  being  supplementary  to  Fontenelle"s, 
as  he  appears  to  have  intended,  is  subversive  of  the  princi- 
ples on  which  the  French  critic's  theory  is  founded.  The  ef- 
fect, according  to  the  latter,  results  from  moderating,  weak- 
ening, softening,  and  diminisliing  the  passion.  According  to 
the  former,  it  results  from  what  is  directly  opposite,  from  the 
arts  employed  by  the  orator  for  the  purpose  of  exaggeration, 
strengthening,  heightening,  and  inflaming  the  passion.  In- 
deed, neither  of  these  writers  seem  to  have  attended  sufll- 
ciently  to  one  particular,  which  of  itself  might  have  shown  the 
insufficiency  of  their  systems.  The  particular  alluded  to  is, 
tliat  pity,  if  it  exceed  not  a  certain  degree,  gives  pleasure  to 
the  mind  when  excited  by  the  original  objects  in  distress,  as 
well  as  by  the  representations  made  by  poets,  paiuters,  and 
orators;  and,  on  the  contrary,  if  it  exceed  a  certain  degree, 
it  is  on  the  whole  painful,  whether  awakened  by  the  real  ob- 
jects of  pity,  or  roused  by  the  exhibitions  of  the  historian  or 
of  the  poet.  Indeed,  as  sense  operates  more  strongly  on  the 
mind  than  imagination  does,  the  excess  is  much  more  fre- 
quent in  the  former  case  than  in  the  latter. 

Now,  in  attempting  to  give  a  solution  of  the  difficulty,  it 
is  plain  that  all  our  theorists  ought  regularly  and  properly  to 
begin  with  the  former  case.  If  in  that,  which  is  the  original 
and  the  simplest,  the  matter  is  sufficiently  accounted  for,  it 
is  accounted  for  in  every  case,  it  being  the  manifest  design 
both  of  painting  and  of  oratory  as  nearly  .as  possible  to  pro- 
duce the  same  affections  which  the  very  objects  represented 
would  have  produced  in  our  minds;  whereas,  though  Mr. 
Ilnme  should  be  admitted  to  have  accounted  fully  for  the 
impression  made  by  the  poet  and  the  orator,  we  are  as  far  as 
ever  from  the  discovery  of  the  cause  why  pity  excited  by 
the  objects  themselves,  when  it  hath  no  eloquence  to  recom- 
mend it.  is  on  the  whole,  if  not  excessive,  a  pleasant  emo- 
tion. 

But  if  this  celebrated  writer  intended  to  assert  that  the  dis- 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  143 

covery  of  the  oratorj',  that  is,  of  the  address  and  talents  of 
the  speaker,  is  what  gives  the  hearer  u  pleasure,  which, 
mingling  itself  with  pity,  fear,  indignation,  converts  iho 
whole,  as  he  expresses  it,  into  one  strong  movement,  which 
is  altogether  delightful — if  this  be  his  sentiment,  he  hath  in- 
deed advanced  something  extraordinary  and  entirely  new. 
And  that  this  is  iiis  opinion  appears,  I  think,  obliquely  from 
the  expressions  which  he  useth.  "The  genius  required,  the 
art  employed,  the  judgment  displayed,  along  witli  tlie  force 
of  expression  and  beauty  of  oratorical  numbers,  diffuse  the 
highest  satisfaction  on  the  audience."-  Again:  "The  impulse 
or  vehemence  arising  from  sorrow,  compassion,  indignation, 
receives  a  new  direction  from  the  sentiments  of  beauty." 
If  this,  then,  be  a  just  solution  of  the  difficulty,  and  the  de- 
tection of  the  speaker's  talents  and  address  be  necessary  to 
render  the  hearer  susceptible  of  this  charming  sorrow,  tliis 
delightful  anguish,  how  grossly  have  all  critics  and  rhetori- 
cians been  deceived  hitherto  !  These,  in  direct  opposition  to 
this  curious  theory,  have  laid  it  down  in  their  rhetorics  as  a 
fundamental  maxim,  that  "  it  is  essential  to  the  art  to  con- 
ceal the  art;"*  a  maxim,  too,  which,  in  their  estimation,  llie 
orator,  in  no  part  of  his  province,  is  obliged  to  such  a  scru- 
pulous observance  of  as  in  the  pathetic. f  In  this  the  speak- 
er, if  he  would  prove  successful,  must  make  his  subject  to- 
tally engross  the  attention  of  the  hearers,  insomuch  that  he 
himself,  his  genius,  his  art,  his  judgment,  his  riclmess  of  lan- 
guage, liis  harmony  of  numbers,  are  not  minded  in  the  least. J 
Never  does  the  orator  obtain  a  nobler  triumph  by  his  elo- 
quence than  when  his  sentiments,  and  style,  and  order  ap- 
pear so  naturally  to  arise  out  of  the  subject,  tliat  every  hear- 
er is  inclined  to  think  he  could  not  have  either  thought  or 
spoken  otherwise  himself,  when  everything,  in  short,  is  ex- 
hibited in  such  manner, 

'  As  all  might  hope  to  imitate  with  ease ; 
Yet  while  they  .strive  the  same  success  to  gain, 
Should  find  their  labour  and  their  hopes  in  vain. "ij— Francis. 

As  to  the  harmony  of  numbers,  it  ought  no  farther  to  be  the 

*  Artis  est  celare  artem. 

t  "  Effugienda  igitur  in  hac  praecipufe  parte  (Jmnis  calliditatis  suspicio  :  ni- 
hil videatur  ftctum,  nihil  solicitum  :  omnia  potius  a  causa,  quam  ah  oratore 
profecta  credantur.  Sed  hoc  pati  nou  possumus,  et  perire  artem  putamus, 
nisi  appareat :  ciiin  desinat  ars  esse,  si  apparet." — Quint.,  Inst.,  lib.  iv., 
cap.  ii. 

X  "Ubi  res  agitur,  et.  vera  dimicatio  est,  ultimus  sit  famse  locus.  Prop 
terea  non  debet  quisquam,  ubi  maxima  rerum  momenta  versaiitur,  de  ver- 
bis esse  solicitus.  Neque  hoc  eo  pertinet,  ut  in  his  nullus  ait  ornalus,  sed 
uti  prcssior  et  severior,  minus  confessus,  prajcipu^  ad  materiam  accommo 
datus." — Quint. 

"  Ut  sibi  quivis 
Speret  idem  ;  sudet  mnltum,  frustraque  laboret. 
A.USU3  idem." — Hoa.,  De  Arte  Poet. 


144  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETOKIC. 

speaker's  care  than  that  he  inay  avoid  an  offensive  disso- 
nance or  hulling  in  his  periods,  which,  by  hurting  the  ear,  ab- 
stracts the  attention  from  the  subject,  and  must,  by  conse- 
quence, serve  to  obstruct  the  effect.  Yet  even  this,  it  may 
be  safely  averred,  will  not  tend  half  so  much  to  counteract 
the  end  as  an  elaborate  harmony  or  a  flowing  elocution,  which 
carries  along  with  it  the  evident  marks  of  address  and  study.* 
Our  author  proceeds  all  along  on  the  snpposition  that  there 
are  two  distinct  effects  produced  by  the  eloquence  on  the  hear- 
ers :  one  the  sentiment  of  beauty,  or  (as  he  explains  it  more 
particularly)  of  the  harmony  of  oratorical  numbers,  of  the 
exercise  of  these  noble  talents,  genius,  art,  and  judgment ; 
the  other  the  passion  which  the  speaker  purposeth  to  raise 
in  their  minds.  He  maintains,  that  when  the  first  predomi- 
nates, the  mixture  of  the  two  effects  becomes  exceedingly 
pleasant,  and  the  reverse  when  the  second  is  superior.  At 
least,  if  this  is  not  what  he  means  to  assert  and  vindicate,  I 
despair  of  being  able  to  assign  a  meaning  to  the  following 
expressions  :  "The  genius  required  to  paint,  the  art  employ 
ed  in  collecting,  the  judgment  displayed  in  disposing,  diffuse 
the  highest  satisfaction  on  the  audience,  and  excite  the  most 
delightful  movements.  By  this  means  the  uneasiness  of  the 
melancholy  passions  is  not  only  overpowered  and  effaced  by 
something  stronger  of  an  opposite  kind,  but  the  whole  move- 
ment of  those  passions  is  converted  into  pleasure,  and  swells 
the  delight  which  the  eloquence  raises  in  us."  Again:  "The 
impulse  or  vehemence  arising  from  sorrow  receives  a  new 
direction  from  the  sentiments  of  beauty.  The  latter  being 
the  predominant  emotion,  seize  the  whole  mind,  and  convert 
the  former — "  Again  :  "  The  soul  being  at  the  same  time 
roused  with  passion,  and  charmed  by  eloquence,  feels  on  the 
■whole — "  And  in  the  paragraph  immediately  succeeding, 
"It  is  thus  the  fiction  of  tragedy  softens  the  passion,  by  an 
infusion  of  a  new  feeling,  not  merely  by  weakening  or  di- 
minishing the  sorrow."  Now  to  me  it  is  manifest  that  this 
notion  of  two  distinguishable,  and  even  opposite  effects,  as 
he  terms  them,  produced  in  the  hearer  by  the  eloquence,  is 
perfectly  imaginary ;  that,  on  the  contrary,  whatever  charm 
or  fascination,  if  you  please  to  call  it  so,  there  is  in  the  pity 
excited  by  the  orator,  it  ariseth  not  from  any  extrinsic  senti- 
ment of  beauty  blended  with  it,  but  intimately  from  its  own 

*■  "  Commoveatume  qnisquam  ejus  fortuna,  quem  tumidum  ac  sui  jac 
tanlem.elambiliosum  institorem  eloquetilise  in  ancipiti  forte  videat  ?  iSon: 
imo  oderit  reruin  verba  aucupaiUein,et  auximn  de  farna  insenii,  et  cui  esse 
diserio  vacet." — Quint.,  1.  xi.,  cap.  i.  "  lUii  voro  atrocitate,  invidia,  mise- 
ratione  pugnanduin  est,  qiiis  ferat  contrapositis  et  pariter  cadentibus,  et 
consimilibus,  irasceiUem,  lientein,  rogaiitern  (  cuin  in  his  rebus  ciira  verbo- 
rum  deroget  affectibus  fidem  :  et  ubicunque  ars  ostentatur,  Veritas  abesso 
videatur." — Cap.  iii 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OP   RHETORIC.  145 

nature,  from  those  passions  which  pity  necessarily  associates, 
or,  I  sliould  rather  say,  includes. 

J?ut  do  we  not  often  hear  people  speak  of  eloquence  as 
moving  them  greatly,  and  pleasing  them  highly  at  the  same 
time  ?  Nothing  more  common.  But  these  are  never  under- 
stood by  them  as  two  original,  separate,  and  independent 
effects,  but  as  essentially  connected.  Push  your  inquiries 
but  ever  so  little,  and  you  will  find  all  agree  in  affirming  that 
it  is  by  being  moved,  and  by  that  solely,  that  they  are  pleased : 
in  philosophical  strictness,  therefore,  the  pleasure  is  the  im- 
mediate effect  of  the  passion,  and  the  passion  the  immediate 
effect  of  the  eloquence. 

But  is  there,  then,  no  pleasure  in  contemplating  the  beauty 
of  composition,  the  richness  of  fancy,  the  power  of  numbers, 
and  the  energy  of  expression^  There  is  undoubtedly.  But 
so  far  is  this  pleasure  from  commixing  with  the  pathos,  and 
giving  a  iirection  to  it,  that,  on  the  contrary,  they  seem  to  be 
in  a  great  measure  incompatible.  Such,  indeed,  is  the  pleas- 
ure which  the  artist  or  the  critic  enjoys,  who  can  coolly  and 
deliberately  survey  the  whole  ;  upon  who?e  passions  tiie  art 
of  the  speaker  hath  little  or  no  influence,  and  that  purely  for 
this  reason,  because  he  discovers  that  art.  The  bulk  of  hear- 
ers know  no  farther  than  to  approve  the  man  who  affects  them, 
who  speaks  to  their  heart,  as  they  very  properly  and  emphat- 
ically term  it,  and  to  commend  the  performance  by  which 
this  is  accomplished.  But  how  it  is  accomplished  they  nei- 
ther give  themselves  the  trouble  to  consider  nor  attempt  to 
explain.* 

Part  IV.  The  Fourth  Hypothesis. 

Lastly,  to  mention  only  one  other  hypothesis :  there  are 

*  The  inquiry  contained  in  this  chapter  was  written  long  before  I  had  an 
opportunity  of  perusing  a  very  ingenious  English  Commentary  and  Notes 
on  Horace's  Epistles  to  the  Pisos  and  to  Augustus,  in  whicli  Mr.  Hume's 
sentiments  on  this  subject  are  occasionally  criticised.  The  opinions  of  that 
commentator,  in  regard  to  Mr.  Hume's  theory,  coincide  in  everything  ma. 
terial  with  mine.  This  author  considers  the  question  no  farther  than  it  re- 
lates to  the  representations  of  tragedy,  and  hath,  by  confining  his  view  lt» 
the  single  point,  been  led  to  lay  greater  stress  on  Fontenelle's  hypothesis 
than,  for  the  solution  of  the  general  phenomenon,  it  is  entitled  lo.  It  is 
very  true  that  our  theatrical  entertainments  commonly  exhibit  a  degree  ol 
distress  which  we  could  not  bear  to  witness  in  the  objects  represented. 
Consequently,  the  consideration  that  it  is  btit  a  picture,  and  not  the  origina. 
— a  fictitious  exhibition,  and  not  the  reality,  which  we  contemplate,  is  es- 
sential for  rendering  the  whole,  I  may  say,  supportable  as  well  as  pleasant. 
But  even  in  this  case,  when  it  is  necessary  to  cur  repose  to  consider  the 
scenical  misery  before  us  as  mere  illusion,  we  are  generally  better  pleased 
to  consider  the  things  represented  as  genuine  fact.  It  requires,  indeed,  but 
a  farther  degree  of  afiliclion  to  make  us  even  pleased  to  think  that  the  copy 
never  had  any  archetype  in  n;vture.  Cut  when  this  is  the  case,  we  may 
truly  say  that  th&  poet  -hath  exceeded,  and  wrought  up  pity  to  a  kind  of 
horror. 

N 


J46  THE    rillLOSOPHT    OF    RHETORIC. 

wlio  niHiiitain  that  compassion  is  "an  example  of  unmixed 
selfishness  and  malignity,'"  and  may  he  "  resolved  into  that 
power  of  imajrinaiion  by  whieli  we  apply  the  misfortunes  of 
others  to  ourselves;"  that  we  are  said  "to  pity  no  longer 
than  we  fancy  ourselves  to  suffer,  and  to  be  pleased  only  by 
refiectintj  that  our  sniTeriners  are  not  veal  ;  tints  indulging  a 
dream  of  distress,  from  which  wc  can  awake  whenever  we 
please,  to  exult  in  our  security,  and  enjoy  the  comparison  of 
the  fiction  with  truth."* 

Tills  is  no  other  than  the  antiquated  doctrine  of  the  philos- 
opher of  Malmesbury,  rescued  from  oblivion,  to  which  it  had 
been  fast  descending,  and  republished  vvitli  improvements. 
Hobbes,  indeed,  thought  it  a  sufTicient  stretch,  in  order  to 
render  the  sympathetic  sorrow  purely  selfish,  to  define  it 
"  imagination  or  fiction  of  future  calamity  to  ourselves,  pro- 
ceeding from  the  sense  of  another's  calamity."!  But  in  the 
first  quotation  we  have  another  kind  of  fiction,  namely,  that 
we  are  at  present  the  very  sufferers  ourselves,  the  identical 
persons  whose  cases  are  exiiibited  as  being  so  deplorable,  and 
w  hose  calamities  we  so  sincerely  lament.  There  were  some 
things  hinted  in  the  beginning  of  the  chapter  in  relation  to  this 
paradoxical  conceit,  which  I  should  not  have  thouglit.it  ne- 
cessary to  resume,  had  it  not  been  adopted  by  a  late  author, 
whose  periodical  essays  seemed  to  entitle  him  to  the  char- 
acter of  an  ingenious,  moral,  and  instructive  writer :|  for 
though  he  hath  declined  entering  formally  into  the  debate, 
he  hath  sufiiciently  shown  his  sentiments  on  this  article,  and 
hath  endeavoured  indirectly  to  support  them. 

1  doubt  not  that  it  will  appear  to  many  of  my  readers  as 
equally  silly  to  refute  this  hypothesis  and  to  defend  it.  No- 
thing could  betray  reasonable  men  into  such  extravagances 
but  the  dotage  wnh  which  one  is  affected  towards  every  ap- 
pendage of  a  favourite  system.  And  this  is  an  appendage  of 
that  system  which  derives  all  the  affections  and  springs  of 
action  in  the  human  mind  from  self-love.  In  almost  all  sys- 
tem-builders of  every  denoinination,  there  is  a  vehemetit  de- 
sire of  simplifying  their  principles,  and  reducing  all  to  one, 
ilencc  in  medicine,  the  passion  for  finding  a  catholicon,  or 
cure  of  all  diseases ;  and  in  chemistry,  for  discovering  the 
true  ;\lcahest,  or  universal  dissolvent.  Nor  have  our  moral- 
ists entirely  escaped  the  contagion.  One  reduceth  all  tlic 
virtues  to  prudence,  and  is  ready  to  make  it  clear  as  sunshine 
that  there  neither  is  nor  can  be  another  source  oi  moral  good, 
a  right-conducted  self-love  ;  another  is  equally  confident  that 
ill  the  virtujs  are  but  different  modifications  of  disinterested 
benevolence ;  a  third  will  demonstrate  to  you  that  vcracifi/  is 

•  Adventurer,  No.  110.  t  Hum.  Nat.,  chap,  ix.,  sect  X 

.    Hawkesworlh. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  147 

the  whole  duly  of  a  mnn  ;  a  fourth,  wiili  more  inpemiity,  ;ind 
much  greater  rippearance  of  reason,  assures  you  llial  the  true 
system  of  ethics  is  comprised  in  one  worJ,  symi>aitiy. 

Bill  to  the  point  in  ham):  it  appears  a  great  ohjeclion  to 
the  selfish  system,  that  in  pity  we  are  all'ected  with  a  real 
sorrow  for  the  sufferings  of  oliiers,  or,  at  least,  thai  men  have 
universally  understood  this  to  be  the  case,  as  ap[)ears  from 
the  very  words  and  phrases  ex[)ressive  of  this  emotion  to  he 
foimd  in  all  known  languages.  But  to  one  who  has  thoroughly 
imhihed  the  principles  and  spirit  of  a  philosophic  sect,  which 
hath  commonly  as  violent  an  appetite  for  mystery  (though  un- 
der a  different  name,  for  with  ttie  philosopher  it  is  a  paradox) 
as  any  religious  sect  whatever,  how  paltry  nnist  an  ohjeclion 
appear  which  hath  nothing  to  support  it  but  the  conviction  of 
all  mankind,  those  only  excepted  whose  minds  have  been  pre- 
vented by  scholastic  sophistry  ! 

It  is  remarkable,  that  though  so  many  have  contended  that 
some  fiction  of  the  imagination  is  absolutely  necessary  to  the 
production  of  pity,  and  though  the  examples  of  this  emotion 
are  so  frequent  (I  hope  in  the  theorists  themselves  no  less 
than  in  others)  as  to  give  am[)ie  scope  for  examination,  they 
are  so  little  agreed  what  this  fiction  is.  Some  contend  only, 
that  in  witnessing  tragedy,  one  is  under  a  sort  of  momenta- 
ry deception,  which  a  very  little  reflection  can  correct,  and 
imagines  that  he  is  actually  witnessing  those  distresses;  and 
:Tiiseries  which  are  only  represented  in  borrowed  characters, 
and  that  the  actors  are  the  very  persons  whom  they  exhibit. 
This  sHipposition,  I  acknowledge,  is  the  most  adnnssible  of 
all.  That  children  and  simple  people,  who  are  utter  stran- 
gers to  theatrical  atiiusements,  are  apt  at  fust  to  be  deceiv«'d 
in  this  nianner,  is  undeniable.  That  therefore,  through  the 
magical  power  (if  1  may  call  it  so)  of  natural  and  animated 
action,  a  transient  illusion  somewhat  similar  may  be  produ- 
ced in  persons  of  knowledge  and  experience,  1  w  ill  not  take 
upon  me  to  controvert.  But  this  hypotlujsis  is  not  necessa- 
rily connected  with  any  particular  theory  of  the  passions. 
The  persons  for  whom  we  grieve,  whether  the  real  objects, 
or  only  the  representatives  mistaken  for  them,  are  still  other 
persons,  and  not  ourselves.  Besides,  this  was  n(;ver  intend- 
ed to  account  but  for  the  degree  of  emotion  in  one  particular 
case  oidy. 

Others,  therefore,  who  refer  everything  to  self,  will  have 
it,  that  by  a  fiction  of  the  mir.d  we  instantly  conceive  some 
future  and  similar  calamity  as  coming  upon  ourselves,  and 
that  it  is  solely  this  conception  and  this  dread  whicl^  call  foith 
all  our  sorrow  and  our  tears.  Others,  not  satisfied  with  this, 
maintain  boldly  that  we  conceive  ourselves  to  be  the  per- 
sons suffering  the  miseries  related  or  represented,  at  the  very 
iiistaut  th;it  our  pity  is  raitsiid.     When  nature  is  deserted  bv 


148  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RIIETOKICi 

US,  it  is  no  wonder  that  we  should  lose  our  way  in  the  devi 
ous  tracks  of  iinagiiiatioii,  and  not  know  whore  to  settle. 

'J'lie  first  would  say,  "  Wiien  I  see  Garrick  in  the  charac- 
ter of  King  Lear,  in  the  utmost  agony  of  distress,  I  am  so 
transported  with  the  passions  raised  in  my  breast  (hat  1  quite 
forget  tlie  tragedian,  and  imagine  that  my  eyes  are  fixed  on 
that  much-injured  and  most  nuserabie  monarch."  Says  the 
second.  ''I  am  not  in  the  least  liable  to  so  gross  a  blunder; 
but  1  cannot  help,  in  consequence  of  the  repiesentation,  be- 
ing struck  with  the  impression  that  I  am  soon  to  be  in  the 
same  situation,  and  to  be  used  in  the  like  ingratitude  and  bar- 
barity." Says  the  third,  '"The  case  is  still  worse  with  me  ; 
for  I  conceive  myself,  and  not  the  player,  to  be  that  wretched 
man  at  the  very  time  that  he  is  acted.  I  fancy  that  1  am  ac- 
tually in  the  midst  ol  the  storm,  suflering  all  liis  anguish  ; 
that  my  daughters  have  turned  me  out  of  do(n-s,  and  treated 
me  with  such  unheard-of  cruelty  and  injustice."  It  is  ex- 
ceedingly lucky  that  there  do  not  oltener  follow  terrible  con- 
sequences from  these  misconceptions.  It  will  be  said,  "  They 
are  transient,  and  qiiicklj'  cured  by  recollection."  But,  how- 
ever transient,  if  they  really  exist,  they  must  exist  for  some 
tin)e.  Now  if,  unhappily,  a  man  had  two  of  Ids  daughters 
sitting  near  him  at  the  very  instant  lie  were  under  this  delu- 
sion, and  if,  by  a  very  natural  and  consequential  fiction,  he  f;;n- 
cied  them  to  be  (.'oneril  and  Regan,  the  effects  might  be  fatal 
to  the  ladies,  though  they  were  the  most  dutiful  children  iu 
the  world. 

It  hath  never  yet  been  denied  (for  it  is  impossible  to  say 
what  will  be  denied)  that  pity  influences  a  person  to  contrib- 
ute to  relieve  the  object  when  it  is  in  his  power.  But  if  tiiere 
is  a  mistake  in  the  object,  there  must  of  necessity  be  a  mistake 
in  the  direction  of  the  relief.  For  instance,  you  see  a  man 
perishing  with  hiniger,  and  your  compassion  is  raised  ;  now 
you  will  pity  no  longer,  say  these  acute  n  asoners,  than  you 
fancy  yourself  to  sutler.  You  yourself  properly  are  the  sole 
object  of  your  own  pity,  and  as  you  desire  to  relieve  the  per- 
son only  whom  you  pity,  if  there  be  any  food  within  your 
reach,  you  will  no  doul)t  devour  it  voraciously,  in  order  to  al- 
lay the  famine  which  you  fancy  yon  are  enduring;  but  you 
will  not  give  one  morsel  to  the  wretcli  who  really  needs  your 
aid,  but  who  is  by  no  means  the  object  of  your  regret,  for 
whom  you  can  feel  no  compunction,  and  with  whose  dis- 
tress (which  is  quite  a  foreign  matter  to  you)  it  is  impossible 
you  sliould  be  affected,  especially  when  under  the  power  of 
a  passion  consisting  of  unmixed  selfishness  and  maligniiy 
For  though,  if  you  did  not  pity  him,  you  woul  1,  on  cool  re- 
flection, give  him  some  aid,  perhaps  from  principle,  perhaps 
from  example,  or  perhaps  from  habit,  unluckily  this  accuraed 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    nHETOniC.  H9 

pity,  this  unmixed  malignant  selfishness  interpnseth,  to  i^luu 
your  heart  against  liim,  and  to  oi)struct  the  pious  purpose. 

1  know  of  no  way  of  eluding  tins  objection  but  one,  wIucIj 
is,  indeed,  a  very  easy  way.  It  is  to  uitroduce  another  fic- 
tion of  the  imagination,  and  to  say  that  when  this  emotion  is 
raised,  1  lose  ail  consciousness  of  my  own  existence  and 
identity,  and  fancy  that  the  pitiable  object  b«;fore  me  is  my 
very  self;  and  that  ihe  real  I,  or  what  1  formerly  mistook 
for  myself,  is  some  other  body,  a  mere  spectator  of  my  mis- 
cry,  or  perhaps  nobody  at  all.  Thus  unknowingly  1  may 
contribute  lo  his  relief,  when  under  the  strange  iihisuni  which 
makes  me  fancy  that,  instead  of  giving  to  another,  I  am  ta- 
king to  myself.  But  if  the  man  be  scrupulously  hone.st,  he 
will  certainly  restore  to  me  when  I  am  awake  what  I  give 
him  unintentionally  in  my  sleep. 

That  such  fictions  may  sometimes  take  place  in  madness 
which  almost  totally  unhinges  our  mental  faculties,  1  will 
not  dispute;  but  that  such  are  the  natural  operations  of  the 
passions  in  a  sound  state,  when  the  intellectual  powers  are 
unimpaired,  is  what  no  man  would  have  either  conceived  or 
advanced  that  had  not  a  darling  hypothesis  to  support.  And 
by  such  arguments,  it  is  certain  that  every  hypothesis  what- 
ever may  equally  be  supported.  Suppose  I  have  taken  it  into 
my  head  to  write  a  theory  of  tlie  mind  ;  and.  in  order  to  give 
unity  and  simplicity  to  my  system,  as  well  as  to  recommend 
It  by  the  grace  of  novelty,  1  have  resolved  to  deduce  all  the 
actions,  all  the  pursuits,  and  all  the  passions  of  men  from 
self-hatred,  as  the  common  fountain.  If  to  degrade  human 
nature  be  so  great  a  recommendation  as  we  find  it  is  to  nniny 
speculators,  as  well  as  to  all  atheists  and  fanatics,  who  happen 
on  this  point,  I  know  not  how,  to  be  most  cordially  united,  the 
theory  now  suggested  is  by  no  means  deficient  in  that  sort  of 
merit  from  which  one  might  expect  to  it  the  very  best  recep- 
tion. Self-love  is  certaiiily  no  vice,  however  justly  the  want 
of  love  to  our  neighbour  be  accounted  one  ;  but  if  anything 
can  be  called  vicious,  self-hatred  is  undoubtedly  so. 

Let  it  not  be  imagined  that  nothing  specious  can  be  urged 
in  favour  of  this  hypothesis :  what  else,  it  may  be  pleaded, 
could  induce  the  miser  to  deny  himself  not  only  the  com- 
forts, but  even  almost  the  necessaries  of  life,  to  pine  for  want 
in  the  midst  of  plenty,  to  live  in  unintermilted  anxiety  and 
terror?  All  the  world  sees  that  it  is  not  to  procure  his  own 
enjoyment,  which  he  invarir.bly  and  to  the  last  repudiates. 
And  can  any  reasonable  person  be  so  simple  as  to  believe 
that  it  is  for  the  purpose  of  leaving  a  fortune  to  his  heir,  a 
man  whom  he  despises,  for  whose  deliverance  from  pcrdi 
lion  he  would  not  part  with  half  a  crown,  and  whom  of  all 
mankind,  next  to  hitnself,  he  hates  the  most !  What  else 
could  induce  the  sensualist  to  squander  his  all  in  dissipaiiou 
N  2 


150  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RflETORrC. 

aiifl  debauchery;  to  rush  on  ruin  certain  and  foreseen  T  You 
call  it  pleasure.  But  is  he  ignorant  that  liis  pleasures  are 
more  than  ten  times  counterbalanced  by  the  plagues  and 
even  torments  which  they  brings  Does  the  conviction,  or 
even  the  experience  of  this,  deter  him  ?  On  the  contrary, 
with  what  steady  perseverance,  with  what  determined  reso- 
lution, doth  he  proceed  in  his  career,  not  intimidated  by  the 
liaggard  forms  which  stare  him  in  the  face,  poverty  and  in- 
famy, disease  and  death!  What  else  could  induce  the  man 
who  is  reputed  covetous,  not  of  money,  but  of  fame— that  is, 
of  wind — to  sacrifice  his  tranquillity,  and  almost  all  the  ei\- 
joyments  of  life  ;  to  spend  his  days  and  nights  in  fruitless 
disquietude  and  endless  care  1  Has  a  bare  name,  think  you, 
an  empty  sound,  such  inconceivable  charms^  Can  a  mere 
nothing  serve  as  a  counterpoise  to  solid  and  substantial  good  ? 
Are  we  not  rather  imposed  on  by  appearances  when  we  con- 
clude this  to  be  his  motive]  Can  we  be  senseless  enough 
to  imagine  that  it  is  the  bubble  reputation  (vvhich,  were  it 
anything,  a  dead  man  surely  cannot  enjoy)  that  the  soldier 
is  so  infatuated  as  to  seek  even  in  the  cannon's  mouth] 
Are  not  these,  therefore,  the  various  ways  of  self-destroying, 
to  which,  according  to  their  various  tastes,  men  are  prompt- 
ed by  the  same  universal  principle  of  self-hatred  ] 

If  you  should  insist  on  certain  phenomena  which  appear  to 
be  irreconcilable  to  my  hypothesis,  I  think  I  am  provided 
w  ilh  an  answer.  You  urge  our  readiness  to  resent  an  affront 
or  injury,  real  or  imagined,  which  we  receive,  and  which 
ouglit  to  gratify  instead  of  provoking  us,  on  the  supposition 
that  we  hate  ourselves.  But  may  it  not  be  retorted,  that  its 
being  a  gratification  is  that  which  excites  our  resentment, 
inasnmch  as  we  are  enemies  to  every  kind  of  self-indul- 
gence ]  If  this  answer  will  not  suffice,  "l  have  another  which 
is  excellent.  It  lies  in  the  definition  of  the  word  revenge. 
Revenge,  I  prosiounce,  may  be  justly  "deemed  an  example 
of  uinnixed  self-abhorrence  and  benignity,  and  may  be  re- 
solved into  that  power  of  imagination  by  which  we  apply  the 
sufferings  that  w^e  inflict  on  others  to  ourselves  ;  we  are  said 
to  wreak  our  vengeance  no  longer  than  we  fan(ry  ourselves 
to  suffer,  and  to  be  satiated  by  reflecting  that  the  sufierings 
of  others  are  not  really  ours;  that  we  have  been  but  indul- 
ging a  dream  of  self-punishment,  from  which,  when  we  awake 
and  discover  the  fiction,  our  anger  instantly  subsides,  and  we 
are  meek  us  lambs."  Is  this  extravagant]  Compare  it,  I 
piay  you,  with  the  preceding  explication  of  compassion,  to 
which  it  is  a  perfect  counterpart.  Consider  seriously,  and 
you  w  ill  find  that  it  is  not  in  the  smallest  degree  more  mani- 
fest that  another,  and  not  ourselves,  is  the  object  of  our  re- 
sentment when  wo  are  angry,  than  it  is  that  another,  and  not 
ourselves,  is  the  object  of  our  compassion  when  we  are 


THE    PniLOSOPUY    OF    RHETORIC.  151 

moved  willi  pitj'.  Botli,  indcrd,  have  a  sclf-rvidencc  in  them 
which,  while  our  niinds  remain  unsopliisticated  by  the  dog- 
matism of  system,  extorts  from  us  an  unlimited  assent. - 

SECTION  II. 
THE  authok's  hypothesis  on  this  supject. 

Whkue  so  many  have  failed  of  success,  it  may  be  thought 
presumptuous  to  attempt  a  decision.  But  despondency  in 
regard  to  a  question  wliich  seems  to  fall  within  the  reach  of 
our  faculties,  and  is  entirely  subjected  to  our  nhsscrvation  and 
experience,  must  r.ppear  to  the  inquisitive  and  philosopiiic 
mind  a  still  greater  fault  than  even  presumption.  The  latter 
may  occasion  the  introduction  of  a  false  theory,  which  must 
necessarily  come  under  the  review  and  correction  of  suc- 
ceeding philosophers.  And  the  detection  of  error  proves 
often  instrumental  to  tlie  discovery  of  truth;  whereas  the 
former  quashes  curiosity  altogether,  and  infiuences  one  im- 
plicitly to  abandon  an  inquiry  as  utterly  undeterminable.  I 
shall,  therefore,  now  offer  a  few  observations  concerning  the 
passions,  which,  if  rightly  apprehended  and  weighed,  will,  I 
hope,  contribute  to  the  solution  of  the  present  question. 

My  first  observation  shall  be,  that  almost  all  the  simple 
passions  of  which  the  mind  is  susceptible  may  be  divided  into 
two  classes,  the  pleasant  and  the  painful.  It  is,  at  the  same 
time,  acknowledged  that  the  pleasures  and  the  pains  created 
by  the  different  passions  differ  considerably  from  one  another 
ho\\\  in  kind  and  degree.  Of  the  former  class  are  love,  joy, 
hope,  pride,  gratitude;  of  the  latter,. hatred, grief,  fear, shame, 
anger.  Let  it  be  remarked,  that  by  the  name  pride  in  the 
first  class  (which  I  own  admits  a  variety  of  acceptations),  no 
more  is  meant  here  than  the  feeling  which  we  have  oti  ob- 
taining the  merited  approbation  of  other  men,  in  winch  sense 
it  stands  in  direct  opposition  to  shame  in  the  second  class,  or 
the  feeling  which  we  have  when  conscious  of  incurring  tlie 
deserved  blame  of  others.  In  like  manner,  gratUudc,  or  tlie 
resentment  of  favour,  is  opposed  to  anger,  or  the  resentment 
of  injury.  To  the  second  class  1  might  have  added  desire 
and  accrsion,  which  give  the  mind  some  imeasiness  or  dis- 
satisfaction with  its  present  state ;  but  these  are  often  the 
occasion  of  pleasure,  as  they  are  the  principal  spurs  to  ac- 
tions, and  perhaps,  more  than  any  other  passion,  relieve  tlie 
mind  from  that  languor  which,  ;iccording  to  tltat  Just  re-mark 
of  Abbe  du  Bos,  is  perfectly  oppressive.  Besides,  as  ihey 
are  perpetually  accompanied  with  some  degree  of  either  hope 
or  fear,  generally  with  boili,  they  are  either  pleasant  or  pain- 
ful, as  the  one  or  the  other  preponder.iles.  For  these  reasons, 
they  m-'-y  be  considered  as  in  themselves  of  uu  iiidillerent  or 
mlermtdiate  kind. 


i52  THE  PHILOSOPHY  of  p.nETORic. 

Tl'e  second  observation  is,  thut  there  is  an  attraction  or 
ass  :ciatijn  among  the  passions,  as  well  as  among  the  ideas 
of  the  mind.  Harely  any  passion  comes  alone.  To  investi- 
gate tlie  laws  of  this  attraction  would  be  indeed  a  matter  of 
cnrious  inquiry,  but  it  doth  not  fall  within  the  limits  of  the 
present  question.  Almost  all  the  other  afTections  attract  or 
excite  desire  or  aversion  of  some  sort  or  other.  The  pas- 
sions which  seem  to  have  the  least  inlluence  on  these  are  joy 
and  grief;  and  of  the  two,  joy,  I  believe,  will  be  acknowl- 
edged to  have  less  of  the  attractive  power  than  grief.  Joy 
is  the  end  of  desire  and  the  completion  of  hope  ;  tlierefore, 
when  attained,  it  not  only  excludes  occasion  for  the  others, 
but  seems,  for  a  while  at  least,  to  repel  them,  as  what  would 
give  an  impertinent  interruption  to  t!ic  pleasure  resulting 
from  the  contemplation  of  present  felicity,  with  which  tiie 
mind,  under  the  influence  of  joy,  is  engrossed.  Grief  hath  a 
like  tendency.  When  the  mind  is  overwhelmed  by  this 
gloomy  passion,  it  resists  the  instigations  of  desire,  as  what 
would  again,  to  no  purpose,  rouse  its  activity;  it  disdains 
hope,  it  even  loathes  it  as  a  vain  and  delusive  dream.  The 
first  suggestions  of  these  passions  seem  but  as  harbingers  to 
the  culling  recollection  of  former  flattering  prospects,  once 
too  fondly  entertained,  now  utterly  extinct,  and  succeeded  by 
an  insupportable  and  irremediable  disappointment,  which  ev- 
ery recollection  serves  but  to  aggravate.  Nay,  how  unac- 
countable soever  it  may  appear,  the  mind  seems  to  have  a 
mournful  satisfaction  in  being  allowed  to  indulge  its  anguish, 
and  to  immerse  itself  wholly  in  its  own  afflictions.  But  this 
can  be  affirmed  of  sorrow  only  in  the  extreme.  When  it  be- 
gins to  subside,  or  when  originall}',  but  in  a  weak  degree,  it 
leads  the  mind  to  seek  relief  from  desire,  and  hope,  and  oth- 
er passions.  Love  naturally  associates  to  it  benevolence, 
which  is  one  species  of  desire,  for  here  no  more  is  meant  by 
it  than  a  desire  of  the  happiness  of  the  person  loved.  Fla- 
tred  as  naturally  associates  malevolence  or  malice,  which  is 
the  desire  of  evil  to  the  person  hated.* 

•*  The  ambiguity,  and  even  penury  of  all  languages,  in  relation  to  our 
internal  feelings,  make  it  very  difficult,  in  treating  of  them,  to  preserve  at 
once  perspicuity  and  accuracy.  Benevolence  is  sometimes  used,  perhaps 
with  little  variation  from  its  most  common  import,  for  charity  or  imiversal 
love;  and  love  itself  will  be  thought  by  some  to  be  properly  delined  by  the 
desire  or  wish  of  the  happiness  of  its  object.  As  to  the  first,  it  is  enough 
that  I  have  assigned  the  precise  meaning  in  which  I  use  the  term  ;  and  in 
regard  to  the  second,  those  who  are  duly  attentive  to  what  passes  within 
their  own  breasts  will  be  sensible  that  by  love,  in  the  strictest  acceptation,  is 
meant  a  certain  pleasurable  emotion  excited  in  the  mind  by  a  suitibie  ob- 
ject,  to  which  the  desire  of  the  happiness  of  the  object  is  generally  conse- 
quent. The  felicity  of  the  object  may,  however,  be  such  as  to  leave  no 
room  for  any  desire  or  wish  of  ours  in  regard  to  it.  This  holds  particular 
ly  in  our  love  of  God.  Besides,  there  may  be  a  desire  of  the  happiness  of 
others,  ansiiig  from  very  different  causes,  where  there  is  nothing  of  that 


THE     nirLOSOPIIY    OF    RHETORIC.  153 

My  tliird  ohservnlion  is,  that  pain  of  every  kind  {rrncrally 
iiiakos  a  tleoper  impression  on  the  imagiiialion  than  pleasure 
doe.'--,  and  is  longer  retained  by  the  memory.  It  is  a  common 
remark  of  every  people  and  of  every  age,  and  consequently 
hatii  some  foundation  in  human  nature,  thai  benelits  are 
sooner  forgotten  than  injuries,  and  favours  than  aftVonls. 
Those  who  arc  accustomed  to  attend  the  theatre  will  be  sen- 
sible that  the  plots  of  t!ie  best  tragedies  which  they  have 
witnessed  are  better  remembered  by  theni  than  those  of  the 
most  celeorated  comedies.  And,  indeed,  everybody  that  re- 
flects may  bo  satisfied  that  no  story  takes  a  firmer  hold  of 
the  memory  than  a  tale  of  wo.  In  civil  history  as  well  as 
in  biography,  it  is  the  disastrous  and  not  the  joyous  events 
which  are  often  recollected  and  retailed. 

The  foin-th  observation  is,  that  from  a  group  of  passions 
(if  I  may  so  express  myself)  associated  together,  and  having 
the  same  object,  some  of  which  are  of  the  pleasant,  others 
of  the  painful  kind — if  the  pleasant  predoininate,  there  ariseth 
often  a  greater  and  a  more  durable  pleasinn;  to  the  mind  than 
would  residt  from  these  if  alone  and  unmi.xed.  That  the  case 
is  so  will,  T  believe,  on  a  careful  inquiry,  be  found  to  be  a 
matter  of  experience ;  how  it  happens  to  be  so,  I  am  afraid 
human  sagacity  will  never  be  able  to  investigate. 

This  observation  holds  especially  when  the  emotions  and 
affections  raised  in  us  are  derived  from  sympathy,  and  have 
not  directly  self  for  the  object.  Sympathy  is  not  a  passion, 
but  that  quality  of  the  soul  which  renders  it  snsceptilile  of  al- 
most any  passion,  by  communication  from  the  bosom  of  anoth- 
er. It  is  by  sympathy  we  rejoice  ivitk  iheni  that  rejoice,  and  weep 
with  them  that  weep.  This  faculty,  however,  doth  not  act  with 
equal  strength  in  these  opposite  cases,  but  is  much  weaker 
in  the  first  than  in  the  second.  It  would,  perhaps,  be  easier 
to  assign  the  intention  of  nature  in  this  difference  than  the 
cause  of  the  difference.  The  miserable  need  the  aid  and 
sympathy  of  others ;  the  happy  do  not.  I  must  farther  ob- 
serve on  the  subject,  what  I  believe  was  hinted  once  already, 
that  sympathy  may  be  greatly  strengthened  or  weakened  by 
the  influence  of  connected  passions.  Thus  love  associates  to 
it  benevolence,  and  both  give  double  force  to  sympathy.  Ha- 
tred, on  the  contrary,  associates  to  it  malice,  and  destroys 
sympathy. 

There  are,  consequently,  several  reasons  why  a  scene  of 

sentiment  of  feeling  wliinh  is  strictly  called  love.  I  own,  at  the  same  time, 
that  the  term  love  is  also  ofleii  u.sed  to  denote  simply  lienevolence  or  good- 
will ;  as  when  we  are  commanded  lo  love  all  men,  known  and  tniknown, 
good  and  bad,  friendly  and  mjunons.  To  that  lender  emotion  which  qual- 
ities supposed  amiable  alone  can  excite,  the  precept  surely  doih  not  extend. 
These  things  1  thought  it  necessary  to  observe,  in  order  to  prevent  mistake 
in  a  case  which  requires  so  much  precision. 


154  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

pure  uinnixcd  joj  in  any  work  of  genius  cnimot  give  a  great 
or  lasting  pleasure  to  the  mind.  First,  sympathetic  Joy  is 
much  fainter  and  more  transient  tlian  S3'mpathetic  grief,  and 
they  are  generally  the  sympathetic  passions  which  are  in- 
fused by  poets,  orators,  painters,  and  historians  ;  secondly, 
joy  is  the  least  attractive  of  all  the  affections.  It  perhaps 
can  never  properly  be  said  to  associate  to  it  desire,  the  great 
spiing  of  action.  The  most  we  can  say  is.  that  when  it  be- 
gins to  subside,  it  again  gives  place  to  desire,  this  passion  be- 
ing of  such  a  nature  as  that  it  can  hardly,  for  tiny  time,  be 
banished  from  the  soul.  Hence  it  is  that  the  joy  which  has 
no  other  foundation  but  sympathy  quickly  tires  the  mind  and 
runs  into  satiety.  Hence  it  is  also  that  dramatic  writers, 
and  even  romance  writers,  make  a  scene  of  pure  Jo}^  always 
the  last  scene  of  the  piece,  and  but  a»short  one.  It  may  just 
be  mentioned,  thirdly,  not,  indeed,  as  an  argument  (for  of  its 
weakness  in  this  respect  I  am  very  sensibh),  but  as  an  illus- 
tration from  analogy,  that  eveiything  in  nature  is  heightened 
and  set  off  by  its  contraiy,  which,  by  giving  scope  for  com- 
parison, enhances  every  excellence.  The  colours  in  paint- 
ing acquire  a  double  lustre  from  the  shades;  the  harmony  in 
music  is  greatly  improved  by  a  judicious  mixture  of  discords. 
The  whole  conduct  of  life,,  were  it  necessary,  might  exem- 
plify the  position.  A  mixture  of  pain,  then,  seems  to  be  of 
consequence  to  give  strength  and  stability  to  pleasure. 

The  fifth  observation  is,  that  under  the  name  pi/i/  may  be 
included  all  the  emotions  excited  by  tragedy.  In  common 
speech,  all,  indeed,  are  included  under  this  name  that  are  ex- 
cited by  that  species  of  eloquence  which  is  denominated  the 
pathetic.  The  passions  moved  by  tragedy  have  been  com- 
monly said  to  he  pili/  a.  d  terror.  This  enumeration  is  more 
popular  than  philosophica.  3ven  though  adopted  by  the  Sta- 
gyrite  himself;  for  what  is  pity  but  a  participation  by  syuT- 
pathy  in  the  woes  of  others,  and  the  feelings  naturally  con- 
sequent upon  them,  of  whatever  kind  they  be,  their  fears  as 
well  as  sorrows]  whereas  this  way  of  contra-distinguishing 
terror  from  pity  would  make  one  who  knew  nothing  of  tra- 
gedy but  from  the  definilion,  imagine  that  it  v.ere  intended 
to  make  us  compassionate  others  in  trouble,  and  dread  mis 
chief  to  ourselves.  If  this  were  really  the  case,  I  believe 
there  are  few  or  none  who  would  find  any  pleasure  in  this 
species  of  entertainment.  Of  this  there  occurs  an  example, 
when,  as  hath  sometimes  happened,  in  the  midst  of  the  per- 
formance the  audience  are  alarmed  with  the  sudden  report 
ihit  the  house  hath  taken  fire,  or  when  they  hear  a  noise 
which  makes  them  suspect  that  the  roof  or  walls  are  falling 
Then,  indeed,  terror  stares  in  every  countenance;  but  such 
a  terror  as  gives  no  degree  of  pleasure,  and  is  so  far  from 
coalescing  with  the  passions  raised  by  the  tragedy,  that,  on 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  155 

die  contrarj-,  it  expels  Uieni  altogether,  and  leaves  not  m  the 
mind,  for  some  time  at  least,  another  idea  or  reflection  but 
what  concerns  personal  safety. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  all  tiie  sympathetic  affections  excited 
by  the  theatrical  representation  were  to  be  severally  enu- 
merated, I  cannot  see  why  hope,  indignation,  love  and  hatred, 
gratitude  and  resentment,  should  not  be  included  as  well  as 
fear.  To  account,  then,  for  the  pleasure  which  we  find  in 
pity,  is,  in  a  great  measure,  to  give  a  solution  of  the  question 
under  review.  I  do  not  say  that  this  will  satisfy  in  every 
case.  On  the  contrary,  there  are  many  cases  in  which  the 
Abbe  du  Bos's  account  above  recited,  of  the  pleasure  arising 
from  the  agitation  and  fluctuation  of  the  passions,  is  the  only 
solution  that  can  be  given. 

My  sixth  and  last  observation  on  tliis  head  is,  that  pity  is 
not  a  simple  passion,  but  a  group  of  passions  strictly  uinied 
by  association,  and,  as  it  were,  blended  by  centring  in  the 
same  object.  Of  these  some  are  pleasant,  some  painful ; 
commonly  the  pleasant  preponderate.  It  luith  been  remarked 
already,  that  love  attracts  benevolence,  benevolence  quickens 
sympathy.  The  same  attraction  takes  place  inverseh',  though 
not,  perhaps,  with  equal  strength.  Sympatliy  engages  be- 
nevolence, and  benevolence  love.  That  benevolence,  or  the 
habit  of  wishing  happiness  to  another,  from  whatever  mo- 
tive it  hath  originally  sprung,  will  at  length  drav/  in  love, 
might  be  proved  from  a  thousand  instances. 

In  the  party  divisions  which  obtain  in  some  countries,  it 
often  happens  that  a  man  is  at  first  induced  to  take  u  side 
purely  from  a  motive  of  interest;  for  some  time,  from  this 
motive  solely,  he  wishes  the  success  of  the  party  with  which 
he  is  embarked.  From  a  habit  of  wishing  this,  he  will  con- 
tinue to  wish  it  when,  by  a  change  of  circumstances,  his  own 
interest  is  no  longer  connected  with  it ;  nay,  which  is  more 
strange,  he  will  even  contract  such  a  love  and  attachment  to 
the  party  as  to  promote  their  interest  in  direct  opposition  to 
his  own.  That  commiseration  or  sympathy  in  wo  Rath  still 
a  stronger  tendency  to  engage  our  love  is  evident. 

This  IS  the  only  rational  account  that  can  be  given  why 
mothers  of  a  humane  disposition  generally  love  most  the 
sickliest  child  in  the  family,  thoi';rh  perhaps  far  from  being 
the  loveliest  in  respect  either  of  temper  or  of  other  qualities. 
The  habit  of  commiseration  habituates  them  to  the  feeling  and 
exertion  of  benevolence.  Benevolence  habitually  felt  and 
exerted  confirms  and  augments  their  love.  "  Nothing,"  says 
Mr.  Hume,*  "endears  so  much  a  friend  as  sorrow  for  his 
death.  The  pleasure  of  his  company  has  not  so  powerful  an 
influence."     Distress  to  the  pitying  eye  diminishes  every 

♦  Essay  on  Tragedy. 


156  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

fault,  mid  sets  off  every  good  quality  in  the  brightest  colours. 
Nor  is  it  a  less  powerful  advocate  for  tlie  mistress  than  foi 
the  friend  :  often  does  the  single  circumstance  of  misfortune 
subdue  all  resentment  of  former  coldness  and  ill  usage,  and 
make  a  languid  and  dying  passion  revive  and  flame  out  with 
a  violence  which  it  is  impossible  any  longer  to  withstand. 
Everybody  acknowledges  that  beauty  is  never  so  irresistible 
as  in  tears.  Distress  is  commonly  sufficient  with  those  who 
are  not  veiy  hard-hearted  or  pitiless  (for  these  words  are 
nearly  of  the  same  import)  to  make  even  enmity  itself  relent. 

There  are,  then,  in  pitt/,  ihese  three  different  emotions: 
first,  commiseration,  purely  painful  ;  secondly,  benevolence,  or 
a  desire  of  the  relief  and  happiness  of  the  object  pitied  —  a 
passion,  as  was  already  observed,  of  the  intermediate  kind  ; 
thirdly,  love,  in  which  is  always  implied  one  of  the  noblest 
and  most  exquisite  pleasures  whereof  the  soul  is  susceptible, 
and  which  is  itself,  in  most  cases,  sufficient  to  give  a  coun- 
terpoise of  pleasure  to  the  whole. 

For  the  farther  confirmation  of  this  theory,  let  it  be  re- 
marked, that  orators  and  poets,  in  order  to  strengthen  this 
association  and  union,  are  at  pains  to  adorn  the  character  of 
him  for  whom  they  would  engage  our  pity  with  every  amia- 
ble quality  which,  in  a  consistency  with  probability,  they  can 
crowd  into  it.  On  the  contrary,  when  the  character  is  hate- 
xul,  the  person's  misfortunes  are  unpitied.  Sometimes  they 
even  occasion  a  pleasure  of  a  very  different  kind,  namely, 
that  which  the  mind  naturally  takes  in  viewing  the  just  pun- 
ishment of  demerit.  When  the  character  hath  such  a  mix- 
lure  of  good  and  odious  qualities  as  that  we  can  neither  with- 
hold our  commiseration  nor  bestow  our  love,  the  mind  is 
then  torn  opposite  ways  at  once  by  passions  which,  instead 
of  uniting,  repel  one  another.  Hence  the  piece  becomes 
shocking  and  disgustful.  Such,  to  a  certain  degree,  in  ray 
judgment,  the  tragedy  of  Veyiice  Preserved,  wherein  the  hero, 
notwithstanding  several  good  qualities,  is  a  villain  and  a  trai- 
tor, will  "appear  to  every  well-disposed  mind.  All  the  above 
cases,  if  attended  to,  will  be  found  exactly  to  tally  with  the 
hypothesis  here  suggested. 

All  the  answer,  then,  which  I  am  able  to  produce  upon  the 
whole,  and  which  results  from  the  foregoing  observations,  is 
this  :  The  principal  pleasure  in  pity  ariseth  from  its  own  na- 
tuie,  or  from  the  nature  of  those  passions  of  which  it  is  com- 
pounded, and  not  from  anything  extrinsic  or  adventitious. 
The  tender  emotions  of  love  which  enter  into  the  composi- 
tion, sweeten  the  commiseration  or  sympathetic  sorrow:  the 
commiseration  gives  a  stability  to  those  emotions,  with 
\y}.-.ch  otherwise  the  mind  would  soon  be  cloyed,  when  di- 
rtited  towards  a  person  imaginary,  unknown,  or  with  whom 
wc-  are  totally  unacquainted.     The  very  benevolence  or  wish 


THE   PHILOSOPHY    OP    RHETORIC.  157 

of  contributing  to  his  relief  affords  Jin  occupation  to  tbo 
thoughts  which  agreeably  rouses  them.  It  injpels  the  mind 
to  devise  expedients  by  which  the  unhappy  person  (if  our 
pity  is  excited  by  some  present  calamitous  incident)  may  be, 
or  (if  it  is  awakened  by  the  art  of  the  poet,  the  orator,  or  the 
historian)  niiglit  have  been,  relieved  from  his  distress.  Yet 
the  whole  movement  of  the  combined  affections  is  not  con- 
verted into  pleasure  ;  for  though  the  uneasiness  of  the  mel 
ancholy  passions  be  overpowered,  it  is  not  effaced  by  some- 
thing stronger  of  an  opposite  kind. 

Mr.  Hume,  indeed,  in  his  manner  of  expressing  himself  on 
this  article,  hath  not  observed  cither  an  entire  uniformity  oi 
his  usual  precision.  I  should  rather  say,  from  some  dubious- 
ness in  relation  to  the  account  he  was  giving,  he  seems  to 
have,  in  part,  retracted  what  he  had  been  establishing,  and 
thus  leaves  the  reader  with  an  alternative  in  the  decision. 
First  he  tells  us  that  "  the  whole  movement  of  those  [melan- 
choly] passions  is  converted  into  pleasure."  Afteward,  ''  the 
latter  [the  sentiments  of  beauty]  being  the  predominant  emo- 
tion, seize  the  whole  mind,  and  convert  the  former  [the  im- 
pulse or  vehemence  arising  from  sorrow,  compassion,  indig- 
nation] into  themselves ;"  he  adds,  by  way  of  correction, 
"  or,  at  least,  tincture  them  so  strongly  as  totally  to  alter 
their  nature.''  Again  :  "  The  soul  feels,  on  the  vvliole,  a 
strong  movement,  which  is  altogether  delightful."  All  this, 
I  acknowledge,  appears  to  me  to  be  neither  sufiiciently  defi- 
nite nor  quite  intelligible. 

But,  passing  that,  1  shall  only  subjoin,  that  the  combina- 
tion of  the  passions  in  the  instance  under  our  examination  is 
not  like  the  blending  of  colours,  two  of  which  will  produce  a 
third,  wherein  you  can  discern  nothing  of  the  original  hues 
united  in  producing  it ;  but  it  rather  resembles  a  mixture  of 
tastes,  when  you  are  quite  sensible  of  the  different  savours 
of  the  ingredients.  Thus,  blue  and  yellow  mingled  make 
green,  in  which  you  discover  no  tint  of  either;  and  all  the 
colours  of  the  rainbow,  blended,  constitute  a  white,  which  to 
the  eye  appears  as  simple  and  original  as  any  of  them,  and 
perfectly  unlike  to  each.  On  the  other  hand,  in  eating  meat 
with  salt,  for  instance,  we  taste  both  distinctly  :  and  though 
the  latter  singly  would  be  disagreeable,  the  former  is  render- 
ed more  agreeable  by  the  mixture  than  it  would  otherwise 
have  been. 

I  own,  indeed,  that  certain  adventitious  circumstances  may 
contribute  to  heighten  the  effect.  But  these  cannot  be  re- 
garded as  essential  to  the  passion.  They  occur  occasionally. 
Some  of  them  actually  occur  but  seldom.  Of  this  sort  is  the 
satisfaction  which  ariseth  from  a  sense  of  our  own  ease  and 
security,  compared  with  the  calaaiity  and  the  dangerof  an- 
other. 

O 


158  THE    THILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

"'Tis  pleasant  safely  to  behold  from  shore 
Th«  rolling  ship,  and  hear  Ihe  tempest  roar " 
Not  that  another's  pain  is  our  delight ; 
B'li  fiairis  inifeil  prodrice  Ihe  pleasing  sight. 
Tis  pleasant  also  to  behold  from  far 
The  moving  legions  mingled  in  the  war."* 

The  pf)et  hntii  hit  here  on  some  of  the. very  few  circumstan- 
ces ill  which  it  would  be  natural  to  certain  tempers,  not  sure- 
ly the  most  humane,  to  draw  comfort  in  the  midst  of  sympa- 
thetic sorrow  from  sucli  a  comparison.  The  reflection,  in 
my  opinion,  occurs  almost  only  when  a  very  small  change 
in  external  situation,  as  a  change  in  place,  to  the  distance  of 
a  few  furlongs,  would  put  us  into  the  same  lamentable  cir- 
cumstances which  we  are  commiserating  in  others.  Even 
something  of  this  kind  v  ill  present  itself  to  our  thoughts 
when  there  is  no  particular  object  to  demand  our  pity.  A 
man  who,  in  tempestuous  weather,  sits  snug  in  a  close  house, 
near  a  good  fire,  and  hears  the  wind  and  rain  beating  upon  the 
roof  and  windows,  will  naturally  think  of  his  own  comfortablo 
situation  compared  with  that  of  a  traveller,  who,  perhaps,  far 
fiom  shelter,  is  exposed  to  all  the  violence  of  the  tempest. 
But  in  such  cases,  a  difference,  as  I  said,  in  a  single  acci- 
dental circutnstance,  which  may  happen  at  any  time,  is  all 
thdt  is  necessary  to  put  a  man  in  the  same  disastrous  situa- 
tion vvl;erein  he  either  sees  or  conceives  others  to  be  ;  and 
the  very  slightness  of  the  circumstance  which  would  have 
been  sufficient  to  reverse  the  scene,  makes  hitn  so  ready  to 
congratulale  with  himself  on  his  better  luck;  whereas  no- 
tliingis  less  natural,  and,  I  will  venture  to  say,  less  common 
than  such  a  reflection,  when  the  differences  are  many,  and  of 
a  kind  which  cannot  be  reckoned  merely  accidental,  as  when 
the  calamity  is  what  the  person  pitying  must  consider  him- 
self as  not  liable  to,  or  in  the  remotest  hazard  of.  A  man 
who,  with  the  most  undissemhled  compassion,  bewails  the 
wretched  and  undeserved  fate  of  Desdemona,  is  not  apt  to 
think  of  himself,  how  fortunate  he  is  in  not  being  the  wife  of 
a  credulous,  jealous,  and  revengeful  husband,  ttiotigh  perhaps 
a  girl  who  hath  lately  rejected  a  suiter  of  this  character  will 
reflect  with  great  complacency  on  the  escape  she  has  made. 
Another  adventitious  source  of  pleasure  is  the  satisfaction 
that  results  from  the  conscious  exercise  of  the  humane  affec- 
tions, which  it  is  our  duty  to  cherish  and  improve.  I  men- 
tion '.his  as  adventitious,  because,  though  not  unnatural,  I  do 

*    "  Suave  mari  magno,  terbantibus  sequora  ventis. 
E  terra  magnum  allerius  spectare  laborein. 
Non  quia  vexari  quemquam  "st  juciinda  vohiptas, 
Se<l  quibns  \\)se  malts  careas,  quia  cernere  suave 'st. 
Suave  eliain  belli  certamina  magna  tueri 
Per  cam^ios  iiislructa,  lua  sine  parte  pericli." 

LUCRET.,  i,  2. 


THE  niiLosopiiY  or  RnETonic.  15U 

not  imagine  that  the  sensations  of  sympathetic  sorrow,  either 
always  or  immediately,  give  rise  to  this  reflection.  Chil- 
dren, and  even  savages,  arc  susceptible  of  pity,  who  think  no 
more  of  claiming  any  merit  to  ihemseives  on  this  score  th;in 
they  think  of  claiming  merit  from  their  feeling  the  natural 
appetites  of  hunger  and  thirst.  Nay,  it  is  very  possible  tliat 
persons  may  know  its  power  and  sweetness  too,  when, 
through  the  influence  of  education  and  bad  example,  they 
consider  it  as  a  weakness  or  blemish  in  their  disposition,  and, 
■is  such,  endeavour  to  conceal  and  stifle  it.  A  certain  degree 
of  civilization  seems  to  be  necessary  to  make  us  thoroughly 
sensible  of  its  beauty  and  utility,  and,  consequently,  that  it 
ought  to  be  cultivated.  Bigotry  may  teach  a  man  to  think 
inhumanity,  in  certain  circumstances,  a  virtue;  yet  natine 
will  reclaim,  and  may  make  him,  in  spite  of  the  dictates  of  a 
misguided  conscience,  feel  all  the  tenderness  of  pity  to  the 
heretic,  who,  in  his  opinion,  has  more  than  merited  the  very 
worst  that  can  be  inflicted  on  him. 

I  acknowledge  that,  on  the  otiier  hand,  when  the  sentiment 
comes  generally  to  prevail  that  compassion  is  in  itself  praise- 
worthy, it  may  be  rendered  a  source  of  much  more  self-sat- 
isfaction to  the  vainglorious  than  reasonably  it  ought  to 
yield.  Such  persons  gladly  lay  hold  of  every  handle  which 
serves  to  raise  them  in  their  own  esteem ;  and  1  make  no 
doubt  that  several,  from  this  very  motive,  have  exalted  this 
principle  as  immoderately  as  others  have  vilified  it.  Every 
good  man  will  agree  that  this  is  the  case  when  people  con- 
sider it  as  either  a  veil  for  their  vices,  or  an  atonement  for. 
the  neglect  of  their  duty.  F'or  my  own  part,  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that  those  who  are  most  ready  to  abuse  it  thus  are 
not  the  most  remarkable  for  any  exercise  of  it  by  which  sa- 
ciety  can  be  profited.  There  is  a  species  of  deception  in  the 
case  which  it  is  not  beside  the  purpose  briefly  to  unravel. 

It  hath  been  observed  that  sense  invariably  makes  a  strong- 
er impression  than  memory,  and  memory  a  stronger  than 
imagination  ;  yet  there  are  particular  circumstances  which 
appear  to  form  an  exception,  and  to  give  an  eflicacy  to  liie 
ideas  of  imagination  beyond  what  either  memory  or  sense 
can  boast.  So  great  is  the  anomaly  which  sometimes  dis- 
plays itself  in  human  characters,  that  it  is  not  impossible  to 
find  persons  who  are  quickly  made  to  cry  at  seeing  a  tragedy 
or  reading  a  romance  which  they  know  to  be  fictions,  and 
yet  are  both  inattentive  and  unfeeling  in  respect  to  the  actua' 
objects  of  compassion  who  live  in  their  neighbuurhoo  1  and 
are  daily  under  their  eye.  Nevertheless,  this  is  an  exception 
from  the  rule  more  in  appearance  than  in  reality.  The  cases 
are  not  parallel :  there  are  certain  circumstances  which  ob- 
tain in  the  one  and  have  no  place  in  the  other,  and  to  these 


IGO  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

peculiarities  the  difference  in  the  effect  is  solely  imputable. 
What  follows  will  serve  fully  to  explain  my  meaning. 

Men  may  be  of  a  selfish,  contracted,  and  even  avaricious 
disposition,  who  are  not  what  we  should  denominate  hard- 
hearted, or  insusceptible  of  sympathetic  feeling.  Such  will 
gladly  enjoy  the  luxury  of  pity  (as  Hawkesworth  terms  it) 
when  it  nowise  interferes  with  their  more  powerful  passions  ; 
that  is,  when  it  comes  miacconipanied  with  a  demand  upon 
their  pockets.  With  the  tragic  or  the  romantic  hero  or  hero- 
ine  they  most  cordially  sympathize,  because  the  only  tribute 
which  wretches  of  their  dignity  exact  from  them  is  sighs  and 
tears ;  and  of  these  their  consciences  inform  tliem,  to  their 
inexpressible  consolation,  that  they  are  no  niggards.  But 
the  case  is  totally  different  with  living  objects.  iJarren  tears 
and  sighs  will  not  satisfy  these.  Hence  it  is  that  people's 
avarice,  a  most  formidable  adversary  to  the  unhappy,  is  in- 
terested to  prevent  their  being  moved  by  such,  and  to  make 
them  avoid,  as  much  as  possible,  every  opportunity  of  know- 
ing or  seeing  them.*  But  as  that  cannot  always  be  done; 
as  commiseration  is  attended  with  benevolence,  and  as  be- 
nevolence itself,  if  not  gratified  by  our  giving  relief  when  it 
is  in  our  power,  imbitters  the  pleasure  which  would  other- 
wise result  from  pity;  as  the  refusal  is  also  attended  with 
self-reproach,  a  person  of  such  a  temper,  strongly,  and  for 
the  most  part  effectually,  resists  his  being  moved.  He  puts 
his  ingenuity  to  the  rack  in  order  to  satisfy  himself  that  he 
ought  not  to  be  affected.  He  is  certain  that  the  person  is  not 
a  proper  object  of  benevolence  ;  he  is  convinced  that  his  dis- 
tress is  more  pretended  than  real;  or,  if  that  cannot  be  al- 
leged, the  man  hath  surely  brought  it  on  himself  by  his  vices, 
therefore  he  deserves  to  suffer,  and  is  nowise  entitled  to  oui 
pity  ;  or  at  least  he  makes  not  a  good  use  of  what  may  char- 
itably, but  injudiciouslj^  be  bestowed  upon  him.  Such  are 
the  common  shifts  by  which  selfishness  eludes  the  calls  of 

*  In  the  parable  of  the  compassionate  Samaritan,  Luke,  x.,  30,  &c..  this 
disposition  to  shun  the  siglit  of  misery,  which  one  is  resolved  not  to  re- 
dress, is  finely  touched  in  the  conduct  of  the  priest  and  the  Leviie,  who, 
when  they  espied  a  person  naked,  wounded,  and  almost  expiring  on  the 
road,  are  said  to  have  passed  by  on  the  other  side.  IndeciJ,  in  the  account 
given  of  the  Leviie  in  our  version,  there  is  something  which  to  me  has  a 
contradictory  appearance.  He  cnmx  and  looked  on  him,  and  passed  by  on  the 
other  side.  There  is  not  a  vestige  of  this  inconsistency  in  the  original,  which 
says  simply,  tXSuv  kuj  i&iav  avrijraiiri'XOtv,  the  meaning  of  which  plainly  is, 
"travelling  thr.t  way,  and  seeing  one  in  this  wretched  plight,  he  kept  on 
the  other  side  of  the  road,  and  passed  on."  In  such  a  case,  a  man  who  is 
not  quite  obdurate  would  avoid  the  cutting  reflection  that  he  knows  any- 
thing of  the  matter;  and  though  he  must  be  conscious  that  he  knew  a  lit- 
tle, and  might  have  known  more  if  he  would  he  is  glad  to  gloss  his  inhu- 
manity even  to  himself  with  some  prele.xt  of  hurry  or  thoughtlessness,  oi 
anything  thnt  may  conceal  the  naked  truth,  a  truth  which  he  is  as  ave 
to  discover  m  himself  as  he  is  to  see  in  another  the  misery  which  he  is 
termined  not  to  relieve. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETOKIC.  !()* 

liunianity,  and  chooses  to  reserve  all  its  worthless  stock  of 
j)iiy  for  fictitious  objects,  or  for  those  wlio.  in  respect  of  time, 
or  place,  or  eminence,  are  beyond  its  reacli. 

For  these  reasons,  I  am  satisfied  liiat  compassion  alone, 
especially  that  displayed  on  occasion  of  witnessing  public 
spectacles,  is  at  best  but  a  very  weak  evidence  of  piiilau 
thropy.  The  only  proof  that  is  entirely  unequivocal  is  actu- 
al beneficence,  when  one  seeks  out  tiie  real  objects  of  com- 
miseration, not  as  a  matter  of  self-indulgence,  but  in  order  to 
bring  relief  to  those  who  need  it,  to  give  hope  t(j  the  despond- 
ing,  and  comfort  to  the  sorrowful ;  for  the  sake  of  which  one 
endures  the  sight  of  wretchedness,  when,  instead  of  giving 
pleasure,  it  distresseth  every  feeling  heart.  Such,  however, 
enjoy  at  length  a  luxury  far  superiitr  to  that  of  pity,  the  god- 
like luxury  of  dispelling  grief,  communicating  happiness,  and 
doing  good. 

03 


162  THE   PBILOSOPHY    OP   RHETOBIC. 


BOOK    11. 

THE    FOUNDATIONS   AND  ESSENTIAL    PROPERTIES    OF    ELOClf 
TION. 

CHAPTER  I. 

THE    NATURE    AND    CHARACTERS    OF    THE    USE    WHICH    GIVES    LAW 
TO    LANGUAGE. 

Eloquence  hath  always  been  considered,  and  very  justly, 
as  liavjng  a  parlic-uhir  connexion  with  language,  it  is  the 
intenlion  of  eloquence  to  convey  our  senliinents  into  the 
minds  of  others,  in  ordt;r  to  produce  a  ct^rtain  eflfect  upon 
them.  Language  is  the  only  vehicle  by  wluch  lliis  convey- 
ance can  be  made,  Tlie  art  of  speaking,  then,  is  not  less 
necessary  to  the  orator  than  the  art  of  iliinking.  Witliout 
the  latter,  the  former  could  not  have  existed  ;  without  the  for- 
mer, the  latter  would  be  ineffective.  Every  tongue  \vhati;ver 
is  founded  in  use  or  custom, 

"  Whose  arbitrary  sway 
Words  and  the  forms  of  language  must  obev."* 

Francis. 

Language  .is  purely  a  species  of  fashion  (for  this  holds 
equally  of  every  tongue),  in  which,  by  the  general  but  tacit 
consent  of  the  people  of  a  particular  slate  or  country,  certain 
Sounds  come  to  be  appropriated  to  certain  things  as  their 
signs,  and  certain  ways  of  inflecting  and  combining  those 
sounds  come  to  be  established  as  denoting  the  relations  which 
subsist  among  the  things  signified. 

It  is  not  the  business  of  grammar,  as  some  critics  seem  pre- 
posterously to  imagine,  to  give  law  to  the  fashions  which 
regulate  our  speech.  On  the  contrary,  from  its  conformity 
to  thesCj  and  from  that  alone,  it  derives  all  its  authority  and 
value.  For  what  is  the  grammar  of  any  language  ?  It  is  no 
oilier  than  a  collection  of  general  observations  methodically 
digested,  and  comprising  all  the  modes  previously  and  inde- 
pendently established,  by  wliicii  the  significations,  deriva- 
tions, and  combinations  of  words  in  that  language  are  ascer- 
tained. It  is  of  no  consequence  here  to  what  caus("S  origi- 
nally these  modes  or  lashions  owe  their  e.vistence  —  lo  imi- 
tation, to  reliectiun,  to  affectation,  or  to  caprice;  they  no 

"Usus 
Quem  pone.',  arbitrium  est  et  jus  et  norma  loquendi.'' 

HoK.,  De  ArU  Poet. 


THE  PHILOSOPHY   OP   RnETonic.  1G3 

sooner  obtain  and  become  general  tlian  they  are  laws  of  iho 
language,  and  tlie  grammariar.  s  only  business  is  to  note,  col- 
lect, and  niethodizf  them.  Nor  does  this  truili  concern  only 
those  more  compreliensive  analogies  or  rules  which  alfecl 
whole  classes  of  words,  such  as  nouns,  verbs,  and  the  other 
parts  of  speech  ;  but  it  concerns  every  individual  word,  in  the 
intlecting  or  the  combining  of  which  a  particular  mode  liaih 
prevailed.  Every  single  anomaly,  therefore,  though  depart- 
ing from  the  rule  assigned  to  tlie  other  words  of  the  same 
class,  and  on  that  account  called  an  excerption,  stands  on  tlie 
same  basis  on  which  the  rules  of  the  tongue  are  founded, 
custom  having  prescribed  for  it  a  separate  rule.* 

The  Irnlh  of  this  position  hath  never,  for  auffht  I  can  re- 
member, been  directly  controverted  l)y  anybody  ;  yet  it  is 
certain  that  both  critics  and  grammarians  often  irgue  in  such 
a  way  as  is  altogether  inconsistent  willi  it.  What,  for  ex- 
ample, shall  we  make  of  that  complaint  of  Dr.  Swilt,  "that 
our  language,  in  n»any  instances,  otf(!nds  against  every  pari 
of  grammar  !'"t  Or  what  could  the  doctor's  notion  of  gram- 
mar be,  when  he  expressed  himself  in  ttiis  manner?  Some 
notion,  possibly,  he  had  of  grammar  in  the  abstract,  a  univer- 
sal archetype  by  which  ihe  particular  grammars  of  all  dilTer- 
enl  tongues  ought  to  be  regulated.  If  this  was  his  meaning, 
I  cannot  say  whether  he  is  in  the  right  or  in  the  wrong  in  tliis 
accusation.  I  acknowledge  myself  to  be  entirely  ignorant  of 
this  ideal  grammar;  nor  can  I  form  a  conjecture  where  its 
laws  are  to  be  learned.  One  thing,  indeed,  ever)"  smatterer 
in  philosophy  will  tell  us,  that  there  can  be  no  natural  con- 
nexion between  the  sounds  of  any  language  and  the  things 
signified,  or  between  the  modes  of  inilcction  and  combination, 
and  the  relations  they  are  intended  to  express.  Perhaps  he 
meant  the  grammar  of  some  other  language  ;  if  .so,  the  charge 
»vas  certainly  true,  but  not  to  the  purpose,  since  we  can  say 
with  equal  truth  of  ever}'  language,  that  it  (jiTends  against  the 
grammar  of  every  other  language  whatsoever.  If  he  meant 
the  Knglish  grammar,  I  would  asii.  Whence  has  that  grammar 
derived  its  laws  ?  If  from  general  use  (and  I  cannot  conceive 
another  origin),  then  it  must  be  owned  that  there  is  a  gener- 
al use  in  that  language  as  well  as  in  others ;  and  it  were  ab- 
surd to  accuse  the  language  which  is  purely  what  is  con- 
formable to  general  use  in  speaking  and  wrinng,  as  offend- 
ing against  general  use.  But  if  he  meant  to  say  that  there 
js  no  fixed,  established,  or  general  use  in  the  language,  that 

*  Thus,  ill  the  two  verbs  call  and  shall,  the  second  person  singular  of  ihe 
former  is  callesi.  agreealiiy  to  the  general  rule;  ilie  spcoiuI  jicrscn  smgulai 
of  the  latter  is  shall,  agreeably  to  a  jiarticuiar  rule  aftecling  that  verl).  To 
say  shallest  lor  shnlt  would  be  as  much  a  barbarism,  though  according  lo  the 
gene'-al  rule,  as  to  say  calt  for  callesi,  which  is  according  to  no  rule. 

1  Letter  to  the  Lord  thgh  Treasurer,  &c. 
P  2 


ltJ4  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

it  is  quit  i  irregular,  he  hath  been  very  unlucky  in  his  man- 
ner of  expressing  himseif.  Nothing  is  tnoro  evident  tlian 
that,  where  there  is  no  law,  there  is  no  transgression.  In 
that  case,  he  ought  to  have  said  that  it  is  not  susceptible  of 
grammar;  winch,  by-ihe-way,  would  not  have  been  true  of 
English,  or,  indeed,  of  any  the  most  uncultivated  language  ou 
the  earth. 

It  is  easy,  then,  to  assign  the  reason  Avhy  the  justness  of 
the  complaint,  as  Doctor  Lowth  observes,*  has  never  yet 
been  questioned ;  it  is  purely  because,  not  being  nnderstood, 
it  hath  never  been  minded.  But  if,  according  to  tiiis  inge- 
nious gentleman,  the  words  our lani^iiagc  have,  by  anew  kind 
of  trope,  been  used  to  denote  those  who  speak  and  write  Eng- 
lish, and  no  more  hath  been  intended  than  to  signify  that  our 
best  speakers  and  most  approved  authors  frequently  offend 
against  the  rules  of  grammar,  that  is,  against  the  general  use 
of  the  language,  I  shall  not  here  enter  on  a  discussion  of  the 
question.  Only  let  us  rest  in  these  as  fixed  principles,  that 
use,  or  the  custom  of  speaking,  is  the  sob'  original  standard 
of  conversation  as  far  as  regards  the  expression,  and  the  cus- 
tom of  writing  is  the  sole  standard  of  style;  that  the  latter 
comprehends  the  former,  and  something  more;  that  to  the 
tribunal  of  use  as  to  the  supreme  authority,  and,  consequent- 
ly, in  every  grammatical  controversy,  the  last  resort,  we  are 
entitled  to  appeal  from  the  laws  and  the  decisions  of  gram- 
marians ;  and  that  this  order  of  subordination  ought  never, 
on  any  account,  to  be  reversed.! 

But  if  use  be  here  a  matter  of  such  consequence.,  it  will  be 
necessary,  before  advancing  any  farther,  to  ascertain  precise- 
ly  what  it  is.  We  shall  otherwise  be  in  danger,  though  we 
agree  about  the  name,  of  differing  widely  in  the  notion  that 
we  assign  to  it. 

SECTION  I. 

EEPUTABLE    USE. 

In  what  extent,  then,  must  the  word  be  understood  1  It  is 
sometimes  called  general  use;  yet  is  it  not  manifest  that  the 
generality  of  people  speak  and  write  very  badly  ]  Nay,  is 
not  this  a  truth  that  will  be  even  generally  acknowledged  1 
It  will  be  so ;  and  this  very  acknowledgment  shows  that 
many  terms  and  idioms  may  be  common,  which,  neverthe- 
less, have  not  the  general  sanction,  no,  nor  even  the  suffrage 
of  those  that  use  them,  'ihe  use  here  spoken  of  implies  not 
only  currency,  but  voi^ue.     It  ia,  properly,  repuLable  custum. 

*  Preface  to  his  Introduction  to  English  Grammar. 

t  "  Non  ralione  nilitur  analogia,  seii  exempio :  nee  lex  est  loqiiendi,  sed 
observatio :  ut  ipsam  analogiarn  nulla  res  alia  fecerit,  quam  consuetude." — 
Quint.,  Inst.,  1.  i.,  c.  vi. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  165 

This  leads  to  <a  distinction  between  pood  use  and  had  use 
in  lanjruMpe,  ll'.o  former  of  which  will  be  found  to  Iimvc  ilie 
ap|)robatioii  of  those  who  liave  n(H  themselves  attained  it.- 
The  far  greiiter  part  of  mankind,  perhaps  ninety-nine  of  a 
hundred,  are,  by  reason  of  poverty  and  other  cireumstances, 
deprived  of  the  advantages  of  education,  and  condennied  to 
toil  for  bread,  almost  incessantly,  in  some  narrow  occupation. 
They  have  neither  tlie  leisure  nor  the  means  of  attaining  any 
knowledge  except  what  lies  within  tlic  contracteii  circle  of 
their  several  professions.  As  the  ideas  which  occupy  llieir 
minds  are  few,  the  portion  of  the  language  known  to  them 
must  be  very  scanty.  It  is  impossible  that  our  knowledge 
of  words  sliould  outstrip  our  knowledge  of  things.  It  may, 
and  often  doth,  come  short  of  it.  Words  may  be  remember- 
ed as  sounds,  but  camiot  be  understood  as  signs  while  we  re- 
main unacquainted  with  tlie  things  signified. 

Hence  it  will  happen,  that  in  ti.e  lower  walks  of  life,  from 
the  intercourse  which  all  ranks  occasionally  have  with  one 
another,  the  people  will  frequently  have  occasion  to  hear 
words  of  v.'liich  they  never  had  occasion  to  learn  tlie  mean- 
ing. These  they  will  pick  up  and  remember,  produce  and 
misapply.  But  there  is  rarely  asiy  uniformity  m  such  bhni- 
ders,  or  anytliing  determinate  in  the  senses  they  give  to 
words  which  are  not  within  tlieir  sphere.  Na3%  they  are  not 
themselves  altogether  unconscious  of  this  defect.  It  often 
ariseth  from  an  admiration  of  the  manner  of  their  superiors,- 
and  from  an  ill  judged  imitation  of  their  way  of  speaking, 
that  the  greatest  errors  of  the  illiterate,  in  respect  of  con- 
versation, proceed.  And  were  they  sensible  how  widely  dif- 
ferent their  use  and  application  of  such  words  is  from  that 
of  those  whom  they  affect  to  imitate,  they  would  renounce 
their  own  immediately. 

But  it  may  be  said,  and  said  with  truth,  that  in  such  sub- 
jects as  are  within  their  reach,  many  words  and  idioms  pre- 
vail among  the  poimlace  which,  notwithstanding  a  use  pretty 
uniform  and  extensive,  are  considered  as  corrupt,  and,  like 
counterfeit  money,  though  common,  not  valued.  This  is  the 
case  particularly  with  those  terms  and  phrases  which  critics 
have  denominated  vuJgartsms.  Their  use  is  not  reputable. 
On  the  contrary,  we  always  associate  with  it  such  notions 
of  meaimess  as  suit  those  orders  of  men  among  whom  chief- 
ly the  use  is  found.  Hence  it  is  that  many  who  have  con- 
tracted a  habit  of  employing  such  idioms  do  not  approve 
them;  and  t!U)ugh,  tlirough  lu^gligencc,  they  frequently  fall 
into  them  in  conversaticni,  they  carefully  avoid  them  in  wri- 
ting, or  even  in  a  solemn  speech  on  any  important  occasion 
Thuir  curnency,  therefore,  is  witliout  authority  and  weight. 
The  tattle  of  children  hath  a  currency,  but,  howfver  univer- 
sal their  manner  of  corrupting  words  may  be  among  them- 


166  THE    rHILOSOPHT   OF    RHETORIC. 

selves,  it  can  never  establish  what  is  accounted  use  in  lan- 
guage. Now,  wliat  children  are  to  men,  that  precisely  Iho 
ignorant  are  to  the  knowing. 

From  the  practice  of  those  who  are  conversant  in  any  art, 
elegant  or  mechanical,  we  always  take  the  sense  of  the  terms 
and  pln-ascs  belonging  to  that  art  ;  in  like  manner,  from  the 
practice  of  those  who  have  had  a  liberal  education,  and  are 
therefore  presumed  to  be  best  acquainted  willi  men  and  things, 
we  judge  of  the  general  use  in  language.  If  in  this  particu- 
lar there  be  any  deference  to  the  practice  of  the  great  and 
rich,  it  is  not  ultimately  because  they  are  greater  and  richer 
than  others,  but  because,  from  their  greatness  and  riches, 
they  are  imagined  to  be  wiser  and  more  knowing.  The 
source,  therefore,  of  that  preference  wiiich  distinguisheth 
good  use  from  bad  in  language,  is  a  natural  propension  of 
the  human  mind  to  believe  that  those  are  the  best  judges  of 
the  proper  signs  and  of  the  proper  application  of  them  who 
understand  best  the  things  which  they  represent. 

But  who  are  they  that  in  the  public  estimation  are  pos- 
sessed of  this  character?  This  question  is  of  t!ie  greatest 
moment  for  ascertaining  that  use  which  is  entitled  to  the 
epithets  reputable  and  good.  Vaugelas  makes  them  in  France 
to  be  '•  the  soundest  part  of  the  court,  and  the  soundest  part 
of  the  authors  of  the  age."*  With  us  Britons,  the  first  part, 
at  least,  of  this  description,  will  not  answer.  In  France, 
which  is  a  pure  monarchy,  as  the  dependance  of  the  inferioi 
orders  is  much  greater,  their  submission  to  their  superiors, 
and  the  humble  respect  which  in  every  instance  they  show 
them,  seem,  in  our  way  of  judging,  to  border  even  upon  ado- 
ration. Witli  us,  on  the  contrary,  who  in  our  spirit,  as  well 
as  in  the  constitution  of  our  government,  have  more  of  the 
republican  than  of  the  monarchical,  there  is  no  remarkable 
partiality  in  favour  of  courtiers.  At  least  their  being  such 
rarely  enhanceth  our  opinion  either  of  their  abilities  or  of 
their  virtues. 

I  would  not  by  this  be  understood  to  signify  that  the  prima 
ry  principle  which  gives  rise  to  the  distinction  between  good 
use  and  bad  in  language,  is  different  in  different  countries. 
It  is  i\pt  originally,  even  in  France,  a  deference  to  power, 
but  to  wisdom.  Only  it  must  be  remarked,  that  the  tendency 
of  the  imagination  is  to  accumulate  all  great  qualities  into 
the  same  character.  Wherever  we  find  one  or  two  of  these, 
we  naturally  presume  the  rest.  This  is  particularly  true 
of  those  qualities  which,  by  their  immediate  consequences, 
strongly  afTecl  the  external  senses.     We  are,  in  a  manner, 

*  *'  V'oici  comme  on  definit  le  bon  usage.  C'est  la  fagon  de  p.nrlcr  cie  is 
plus  saine  parlie  de  la  cour,  conformempnt  a  la  fa(;on  decrire  de  la  plus 
saijie  partie  dc3  auleurs  du  temps."— Pr^ace  aiuc  Revnarques  sur  la  Jxm^u^ 
FroHtoise. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETOniC.  167 

dazzled  by  fhem.  Hence  it  happens,  that  it  is  difllcult  even 
for  a  man  of  discernment,  till  lie  he  better  instructed  by  ex- 
perience, l{)  restrain  a  veneration  for  the  Judgment  of  a  per- 
son of  uncommon  splendour  and  magnificenee  ;  as  if  one 
wiio  is  more  powerful  and  opulent  than  his  neighimurs  were 
of  necessity  wiser  t(»o.  Now  this  original  bias  of  the  niind 
some  political  constitutions  serve  to  strengthen,  others  to 
correct. 

But,  without  resting  the  matter  entirely  on  the  difference 
in  respect  of  government  between  France  and  Britain,  the 
British  court  is  commonly  too  fluctuating  an  object.  Use  in 
language  requires  firmer  ground  to  stand  upon.  No  doubt 
the  conversation  of  uien  of  rank  and  eminence,  whether  of 
the  court  or  not.  will  have  its  influence  ;  and  in  what  con- 
cerns merely  the  pronuncfation,  it  is  the  only  rule  to  which 
we  can  refer  the  matter  in  every  doubtful  case  ;  but  in  what 
concerns  the  words  themselves,  tlieir  construction  and  appli- 
cation,  it  is  of  ynportance  to  have  some  certain,  steady,  and 
well-known  standard  to  recur  to,  a  standard  which  every  one 
hath  access  to  canvass  and  examine.  And  this  can  be  no 
other  than  authors  of  reputation.  Accordingly,  we  find  that 
these-are,  by  universal  coiisent,  in  actual  possession  of  this 
authority,  as  to  this  tribunal,  when  any  doubt  arises,  tlie  ap- 
peal is  always  made. 

I  choose  to  name  them  authors  of  reputation,  rather  than 
good  authors,  for  two  reasons  :  first,  because  it  is  more  strict 
ly  conformable  to  the  truth  of  the  case.  It  is  solely  the  es- 
teem of  the  public,  and  not  their  intrinsic  merit  (though  these 
two  go  generally  together),  which  raises  thorn  to  this  distinc- 
tion, and  stamps  a  value  on  their  language.  Secondly,  this 
character  is  more  definitive  than  the  other,  and,  therefore, 
more  extensively  intelligible.  Between  two  or  more  authors, 
diflerent  readers  will  differ  exceedingly  as  to  the  preference 
in  point  of  merit,  who  agree  perfectly  as  to  the  respective 
places  they  hold  in  the  favour  of  the  public.  You  may  find 
persons  of  a  taste  so  particular  as  to  prefer  Parnell  to  Mil- 
ton, but  you  will  hardly  find  a  person  that  will  dispute  the 
superiority  of  the  latter  in  the  article  of  fame.  For  this  rea- 
son, I  afiirm  that  Vaugelas's  definition  labours  under  an  es- 
sential defect,  inasmuch  as  it  may  be  difficult  to  meet  with 
two  persons  whose  judgments  entirely  coincide  in  determin- 
ing who  are  the  sounder  part  of  the  court  or  of  the  authors 
of  the  age.  I  need  scarcely  add  that,  when  I  speak  of  rep- 
utation, I  mean  not  only  in  regard  to  knowledge,  but  in  re- 
gard to  the  talent  of  communicating  knowledge.  1  coulc/ 
name  writers  who,  in  respect  to  the  first,  have  been  justlj 
valued  by  the  public,  but  who,  on  account  of  a  supposed  de 
ficiency  in  respect  of  the  second,  are  cuusidered  as  of  uo  au 
tliority  iu  language. 


168  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

Nor  is  tliere  the  least  ground  to  fear  that  we  should  be 
cramped  here  within  too  narrow  Umits.  In  the  English 
tongue  tiiere  is  a  plentiful  supply  of  noted  writings  in  all  the 
various  kinds  of  composition,  in  prose  and  verse,  serious  and 
ludicrous,  grave  and  familiar.  Agreeably,  then,  to  this  first 
qualification  of  the  term,  we  must  understand  to  be  compre- 
hended under  general  use  whatever  modes  of  speech  are  author- 
ized as  good  by  the  lorilings  of  a  great  number,  if  not  the  major' 
ity,  of  celebrated  authors. 

SECTION  II. 

NATIONAL     USE. 

Another  qualification  of  the  term  use  w^hich  deserves  our 
attention  is,  that  it  must  be  national.  This  i  consider  in  a 
twofold  view,  as  it  stands  opposed  both  to  provincial  'And.  for- 
eign. 

In  every  province  there  are  peculiarities  c^  dialect,  which 
affect  not  only  the  pronunciation  and  the  accent,  but  even  the 
inflection  and  the  combination  of  words,  whereby  their  idiom 
is  distinguished  both  from  that  of  the  nation  and  from  that  of 
every  other  province.  The  narrowness  of  the  circle  to  which 
the  currency  of  the  words  and  phrases  of  such  dialects  is 
confined,  sufficiently  discriminates  them  from  that  which  is 
properly  styled  the  language,  and  which  commands  a  circu- 
lation incomparably  wider.  This  is  one  reason,  I  imagine, 
why  the  term  use,  on  this  subject,  is  commonly  accompanied 
with  the  epithet  general.  In  the  use  of  provincial  idioms, 
there  is,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  a  pretty  considerable  con- 
currence both  of  the  middle  and  of  the  lower  ranks.  But  still 
this  use  is  bounded  by  the  province,  county,  or  district  which 
gives  name  to  the  dialect,  and  beyond  which  its  peculiarities 
are  sometimes  unintelligible,  and  always  ridiculous.  But  the 
language,  properly  so  called,  is  found  current,  especially  in 
the  upper  and  the  middle  ranks,  over  the  whole  British  Em- 
pire. Thus,  though  in  every  province  they  ridicule  the  idiom 
of  every  other  province,  they  all  vail  to  the  English  idiom, 
and  scruple  not  to  acknowledge  its  superiority  over  their  own. 

For  exaiTiple,  in  some  parts  of  Wales  (if  we  may  credit 
Shakspeare*),  the  common  people  say  gont  for  good ;  in  the 
south  of  Scotland  they  say  gude,  and  in  tlie  nortli  gueed. 
Whsrever  one  of  these  pronunciations  prevails,  you  will  nev- 
er hear  from  a  native  either  of  the  other  two  ;  but  the  word 
good  is  to  be  heard  everywhere,  from  natives  as  well  as 
strangers ;  nor  do  the  people  ever  dream  that  there  is  any- 
thing laughable  in  it,  however  much  they  are  disposed  to  laugh 
at  the  county  accents  and  idioms  which  they  discern  in  one 
aiiolher.  Nay,  more,  though  the  people  of  distant  provinces 
*  Fluellin  in  Henry  V.  ... 


THE  niiLosornY  oj  niiETonic.  lO'J 

do  not  understand  one  another,  they  mostly  all  understand 
one  who  speaks  properly.  It  is  a  just  and  curious  observa- 
tioji  of  Dr.  Kenriek,  that  "  the  case  of  languages,  or,  rather, 
speech,  being  quite  contrary  to  that  of  science,  in  the  former 
the  ignorant  understand  the  learned  better  than  the  learned, 
do  the  ignorant ;  in  the  latter  it  is  otherwise."* 

Hence  it  will  perhaps  be  found  true,  upon  inquirj^  notwith- 
standing its  paradoxical  appearance,  that  though  it  be  very 
uncommon  to  speak  or  write  pure  English,  yet.  of  all  the 
idioms  subsisting  among  us,  that  to  which  we  give  the  char 
acter  of  purity  is  the  commonest.  The  faulty  idioms  do  not 
jar  more  with  true  English  than  tliey  do  with  one  another ; 
so  that,  in  order  to  our  being  satisfied  of  the  truth  of  the  ap- 
parent paradox,  it  is  requisite  only  that  we  remember  that 
these  idioms  are  diverse  one  froin  anotlier,  though  they  come 
under  the  common  denomination  of  impure.  Those  who  wan- 
der from  the  road  may  be  incomparably  more  than  those  who 
travel  in  it ;  and  yet,  if  it  be  into  a  thousand  different  by-paths 
that  they  deviate,  there  may  not  in  any  one  of  these  be  found 
so  many  as  those  whom  you  will  meet  upon  the  king's  high- 
way. 

What  hath  been  now  said  of  provincial  dialects  may,  with 
very  little  variation,  be  applied  to  professional  dialects,  or 
the  cant  which  is  sometimes  observed  to  prevail  among  those 
of  the  same  profession  or  way  of  life.  The  currency  of  the 
latter  cannot  be  so  exactly  circumscribed  as  that  of  the  for- 
mer, whose  distinction  is  purely  local ;  but  their  use  is  not, 
on  that  account,  either  more  extensive  or  more  reputable.. 
Let  the  following  serve  as  instances  of  this  kind.  Advice,  in 
the  commercial  idiom,  means  information  or  intelligence ; 
nervous,  in  open  defiance  of  analogy,  doth  in  the  medical  cant, 
as  Johnson  expresseth  it,  denote  having  weak  nerves ;  and 
the  word  turtle,  though  px-eoccupied  time  immemorial  by  a 
species  of  dove,  is,  as  we  learn  from  the  same  authority,  em- 
ployed by  sailors  and  gluttons  to  signify  a  tortoise. f 

It  was  remarked  that  national  might  also  be  opposed  to 
foreign.  I  imagine  it  is  too  evident  to  need  illustration,  that 
the  introduction  of  extraneous  words  and  idioms  from  other 
languages  and  foreign  nations,  cannot  be  a  smaller  transgres- 
sion against  the  established  custom  of  the  English  tongue, 
than  the  introduction  of  words  and  idioms  peculiar  to  some 
precincts  of  England,  or,  at  least,  somewhere  current  within 
rtie  British  pale.  The  only  material  difference  between  them 
is,  that  the  one  is  more  commonly  the  error  of  the  learned, 
the  other  of  the  vulgar.  But  if,  in  this  view,  the  former  is 
entitled  to  greater  indulgence  from  the  respect  paid  to  learn- 
ing, in  another  view  it  is  entitled  to  less,  as  it  is  much  more 

*  Rhet.  Gram.,  chap,  ii.,  sect.  iv. 
t  Soe  those  words  in  the  English  Dictionary. 
P 


170  THE    PHILOSOPHY   OP    RHETORIC. 

commonly  the  result  of  affectation.  Thus  two  essential  qual 
ities  of  usage  in  regard  to  language  have  been  settled,  that  it 
be  both  reputable  and  national. 

SECTIOxNf  III. 

PRESENT     USE. 

But  there  will  naturally  arise  here  another  question :  "  Is 
not  use,  even  good  and  national  use,  in  the  same  country,  dif- 
ferent in  different  periods  ]  And  if  so,  to  the  usage  of  what 
period  shall  we  attach  ourselves  as  the  proper  rule  ^  If  you 
say  the  present,  as  it  may  reasonably  be  expected  that  you 
will,  the  difficulty  is  not  entirely  removed.  In  what  extent 
of  signification  must  we  understand  the  word  present  ?  How 
far  may  we  safely  range  in  quests  of  authorities'?  or  at  what 
distance  backward  from  this  moment  are  authors  still  to  be 
accounted  as  possessing  a  legislative  voice  in  language  ?"  To 
this,  I  own,  it  is  difficult  to  give  an  answer  with  all  the  pre- 
cision that  might  be  desired.  Yet  it  is  certain  that,  when  we 
are  in  search  of  precedents  for  any  word  or  idiom,  there  are 
certain  mounds  wliich  we  cannot  overleap  with  safety.  For 
instance,  the  authority  of  Hooker  or  of  Raleigh,  however 
great  their  merit  and  their  fame  be,  will  not  now  be  admitted 
in  support  of  a  term  or  expression  not  to  be  found  in  any 
good  writer  of  a  later  date. 

In  truth,  the  boundary  must  not  be  fixed  at  the  same  dis- 
tance in  every  subject.  Poetry  hath  ever  been  allowed  a 
wider  range  than  prose ;  and  it  is  but  just  that,  by  an  indul- 
gence of  this  kind,  some  compensation  should  be  made  for 
the  peculiar  restraints  she  is  laid  under  by  the  measure.  Nor 
is  this  only  a  matter  of  convenience  to  the  poet ;  it  is  also  a 
matter  of  gratification  to  the  reader.  Diversity  in  the  style 
relieves  the  ear,  and  prevents  its  being  tired  with  the  too  fre- 
quent recurrence  of  the  rhymes,  or  sameness  of  the  metre. 
But  still  there  are  limits  to  this  diversity.  The  authority  of 
Milton  and  of  Waller  on  this  article  remains  as  yet  unques- 
tioned. I  should  not  think  it  prudent  often  to  introduce  words 
or  phrases  of  which  no  example  could  be  produced  since  the 
days  of  Spenser  and  of  Shakspeare. 

And  even  in  prose  the  bounds  are  not  the  same  for  every 
kind  of  composition.  In  matters  of  science,  for  instance, 
whose  terms,  from  the  nature  of  the  thing,  are  not  capable  of 
such  a  currency  as  those  which  belong  to  ordinary  subject*, 
and  are  within  the  reach  of  ordinary  readers,  there  is  no  ne- 
cessity of  confining  an  author  within  a  very  narrow  circle. 
But  in  composing  pieces  which  come  under  this  last  denom- 
ination, as  history,  romance,  travels,  moral  essays,  familiar 
letters,  and  the  like,  it  is  safest  for  an  author  to  consider 
those  words  and  idioms  as  obsolete  which  have  been  disused 


THE  riiii.osoniv  of  RiiETcnic,  171 

DV  all  good  authors  for  a  longer  period  than  the  age  of  man 
extends  to.  It  is  not  by  ancient,  but  by  present  use,  tliat  our 
style  must  be  regulated.  And  tliat  use  can  never  be  denom- 
inated present  wliich  hath  been  laid  aside  time  immemorial, 
or,  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  falls  not  within  the 
knowledge  or  remembrance  of  any  now  living.* 

This  remark  not  only  affects  terms  and  phrases,  but  also 
the  declension,  combination,  and  construction  of  words.  Is 
it  not,  then,  surprising  to  find  that  one  of  Lowth's  penetra- 
tion should  thini<  a  single  person  entitled  to  revive  a  form  of 
inflection  in  a  particular  word  which  had  been  rejected  by  all 
good  writers,  of  every  denomination,  for  more  than  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  years  if  But  if  present  use  is  to  be  renounced 
for  ancient,  it  will  be  necessary  to  determine  at  what  pre- 
cise period  antiquity  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  rule.  One  inclines 
to  remove  the  standard  to  the  distance  of  a  century  and  a 
half;  another  may,  with  as  good  reason,  fix  it  three  centu- 
ries backward,  and  another  six.  And  if  the  language  of  any 
of  these  periods  is  to  be  judged  by  the  use  of  any  other,  it  will 
be  found,  no  doubt,  entirely  barbarous.  To  me  it  is  so  evi- 
dent either  that  the  present  use  must  be  the  standard  of  the 
present  language,  or  that  the  language  admits  no  standard 
whatsoever,  that  I  cannot  conceive  a  clearer  or  more  indis- 
putable principle  from  which  to  bring  an  argument  to  sup- 
port it. 

Yet  it  is  certain  that  even  some  of  our  best  critics  and  gram- 
marians talk  occasionally  as  if  they  had  a  notion  of  some 
other  standard,  though  they  never  give  us  a  single  hint  to  di- 
rect us  where  to  search  for  it.  Doctor  Johnson,  for  exam- 
ple, in  the  preface  to  his  very  valuable  Dictionary,  acknowl- 
edges properly  the  absolute  dominion  of  custom  over  lan- 
guage, and  yet,  in  the  explanation  of  particular  words,  ex- 
presseth  himself  sometimes  in  a  manner  that  is  inconsistent 
with  this  doctrine :  "  This  word,"  says  he,  in  one  place, 
"  though  common,  and  used  by  the  best  writers,  is  perhaps 
"barbarous. "t  I  have  always  understood  a  barbarism  in 
speech  to  be  a  term  or  expression  totally  unsupported  by  the 

*  "Nam  fuerit  pene  rkliculuin  nialle  sermonem  quo  locutisunt  homines, 
q  lam  quo  loquantur." — Quint.,  Inst.,  1.  i.,  c.  vi. 

t  Intiotl,  &c.  In  a  note  on  the  irregular  verb  si(,  he  sa3's,  "  Dr.  Middle- 
ton  hath,  with  great  propriety,  restored  the  true  participle  sitimi."  Would 
he  not  have  acted  with  as  great  propriety  had  he  restored  the  true  partici- 
ples pight  for  pitched,  raught  for  reached,  blent  for  blended,  and  shright  for 
shrieked,  on  full  as  good  authority,  the  authority  of  Spenser,  one  of  the 
sweetest  of  our  ancient  bards  ?  And  why  might  not  Dr.  Lowth  himself 
have,  with  great  propriety,  restored  the  true  participles  hiiien,  casten,  leiien, 
putte.n,  selten,  shutlen,  glilten,  !<plitten,foanden, grounded,  oi  \\\e  verbs  hit,  cast, 
let,  put,  set,  shut,  slit,  split,  find,  grind  f  for  it  would  not  be  iuipossible  to  pro- 
duce antiquated  authors  in  support  of  all  these.  Besides,  they  are  all  used 
to  this  day  in  some  provincial  dialects.  J  See  the  word  Nowadays 


172  Tiir,  rniLosoriiY  of  kiietoric. 

present  usage  of  good  writers  in  the  language.  A  meaning 
very  different  is  suggested  liere,  but  what  that  meaning  is  it 
will  not  be  easy  to  conjecture.  Nor  has  this  celebrated  wri- 
ter given  us,  on  the  word  barbarous,  any  definition  of  the  term 
which  will  throw  light  on  his  application  of  it  in  the  passage 
quoted.  I  entirely  agree  with  Dr.  Priestley,  that  it  will  nev- 
er be  the  arbitrary  rules  of  any  man,  or  body  of  men  what- 
ever, that  will  ascertain  the  language,*  there  being  no  other 
dictator  here  but  use. 

It  is,  indeed,  easier  to  discover  the  aim  of  our  critics  m 
Iheir  observations  on  this  subject  than  the  meaning  of  the 
terms  which  they  employ.  These  are  often  employed  with- 
out precision  ;  their  aim,  however,  is  generally  good.  It  is 
as  much  as  possible  to  give  a  check  to  innovation.  But  tlie 
means  which  they  use  for  this  purpose  have  sometim.es  even 
a  contrary  tendency.  If  you  will  replace  what  hath  been 
long  since  expunged  from  the  language,  and  extirpate  what 
is  firmly  rooted,  undoubtedly  you  yourself  become  an  inno- 
vator. If  you  desert  the  present  use,  and  by  your  example, 
at  least,  establish  it  as  a  maxim  that  every  critic  may  revive 
at  pleasure  oldfashioned  terms,  inflections,  and  combinations, 
and  make  such  alterations  on  words  as  will  bring  them  near 
er  to  what  he  supposeth  to  be  the  etymon,  there  can  be  no- 
thing fixed  or  stable  on  the  subject.  Possibly  you  prefer  the 
usage  that  prevailed  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth  ;  anoth- 
er may,  with  as  good  reason,  have  a  partiality  for  that  which 
subsisted  in  the  days  of  Chaucer.  And  with  regard  to  ety- 
mology, about  which  grammarians  make  so  much  useless 
bustle,  if  every  one  hath  a  privilege  of  altering  words  accord- 
ing to  his  own  opinion  of  their  origin,  the  opinions  of  the 
learned  being  on  this  subject  so  various,  nothing  but  a  gen- 
eral chaos  can  ensue. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  may  be  said,  "  Are  we  to  catch  at 
every  newfashioned  term  and  phrase  which  whim  or  afi'ecta- 
tion  may  invent,  and  folly  circulate  1  Can  this  ever  tend  to 
give  either  dignity  to  our  style  or  permanency  to  our  lan- 
guage ■?"  It  cannot,  surely.  This  leads  to  a  farther  expla- 
nation and  limitation  of  the  term  present  use,  to  prevent  our 
being  misled  by  a  mere  name.  It  is  possible,  nay,  it  is  com- 
mon, for  men,  in  avoiding  one  error,  to  run  into  another  and 
a  worse. t  There  is  a  mean  in  everything.  I  have  purpose- 
ly avoided  the  expressions  recent  use  and  modern  use,  as  those 
seem  to  stand  in  direct  opposition  to  what  is  ancient.  But  I 
used  the  word  present,  which,  in  respect  of  place,  is  always 
apposed  to  absent,  and  in  respect  of  time,  to  past  or  future, 
that  now  have  no  existence.  When,  therefore,  the  word  is 
used  of  language,  its  proper  contrary  is  not  ancient,  but  obso- 

*  Preface  to  his  Rudiments  of  English  Grammar. 

+  "  In  vitium  ducit  culpjB  tuga,  si  caret  arte." — Hor.,  De  Arte  Poet. 


THE   nilLOSOPllY    OF    RHETORIC.  173 

tetc.  J5esides,  though  I  liave  acknowledged  language  to  be 
a  species  of  mode  or  fashion,  as  doubtless  it  is,  yet,  being 
much  more  permanent  than  articles  of  apparel,  furniture,  and 
the  like,  that,  in  regard  to  their  form,  are  under  the  dominion 
of  that  inconstant  power,  I  have  avoided  also  using  the  words 
fashionable  and  modish,  which  but  too  generally  convey  the 
ideas  of  novelty  and  levity.  Words,  therefore,  are  by  no 
means  to  be  accounted  the  worse  for  being  old,  if  they  are 
not  obsolete  ;  neither  is  any  word  the  better  for  being  new. 
On  the  contrary,  some  time  is  absolutely  necessary  to  consti- 
tute that  custom  or  use  on  which  the  establishment  of  words 
depends. 

If  we  recur  to  the  standard  already  assigned,  namely,  the 
writings  of  a  plurality  of  celebrated  authors,  there  will  be  no 
scope  for  the  comprehension  of  words  and  idioms  which  can 
be  denominated  novel  and  upstart.  It  must  be  owned  that 
we  often  meet  with  such  terms  and  phrases  in  newspapers, 
periodical  pieces,  and  political  pamphlets.  The  writers  to 
the  times  rarely  fail  to  have  their  performances  studded  with 
a  competent  number  of  these  fantastic  ornaments.  A  popu- 
lar orator  in  the  House  of  Commons  hath  a  sort  of  patent 
from  the  public,  during  the  continuance  of  his  popularity,  for 
coining  as  many  as  he  pleases ;  and  they  are  no  sooner  is- 
sued than  they  obtrude  themselves  upon  us  from  every  quar- 
ter, in  all  the  daily  papers,  letters,  essays,  addresses,  &c. 
But  this  is  of  no  significancy.  Such  words  and  phrases  are 
but  the  insects  of  a  season  at  the  most.  The  people,  always 
fickle,  are  just  as  prompt  to  drop  them  as  they  were  to  take 
them  up ;  and  not  one  of  a  hundred  survives  the  particular 
occasion  or  party  struggle  which  gave  it  birth.  We  may 
jiistly  apply  to  them  what  Johnson  says  of  a  great  number  of 
the  terms  of  the  laborious  and  mercantile  part  of  the  people  : 
"  This  fugitive  cant  cannot  be  regarded  as  any  part  of  the 
durable  materials  of  a  language,  and  therefore  must  be  suffer- 
ed to  perish  with  other  things  unworthy  of  preservation."* 

As  use,  therefore,  implies  duration,  and  as  even  a  few 
years  are  not  sufficient  for  ascertaining  the  characters  of  au- 
thors, I  have,  for  the  most  part,  in  the  following  sheets,  taken 
my  prose  examples  neither  from  living  aulliors  nor  from 
those  who  wrote  before  the  Revolution ;  not  from  tiie  first, 
because  an  author's  fame  is  not  so  firmly  established  in  his 
lifetime ;  nor  from  the  last,  that  there  may  be  no  suspicion 
that  the  style  is  sui)erannuated.  Tlie  vulgar  translation  of 
the  Bible  I  must,  indeed,  except  from  this  restriction.  The 
CDntinuance  and  universality  of  its  use  throughout  the  British 
dominions  affords  an  obvious  reason  for  the  exception. 

Thus  I  have  attempted  to  explain  what  that  use  is  which  ia 

♦  Preface  to  his  Dictionaiy. 


!74  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

i'le  sole  mistress  of  language,  and  to  ascertain  the  precise 
i  I'.port  and  extent  of  these  her  essential  attributes,  reputable, 
h'lfional,  and  present,  and  to  give  the  directions  proper  to  be 
observed  in  searching  for  the  laws  of  this  empress.  In  truth, 
grammar  and  criticism  are  but  her  ministers;  and  though, 
iike  other  ministers,  they  would  sometimes  impose  the  dic- 
tjites  of  their  own  humour  upon  the  people  as  the  commands 
»{■  their  sovereign,  they  are  not  so  often  successful  in  such 
;  tempts  as  to  encourage  the  frequent  repetition  of  them. 


A' 


CHAPTER  II. 


.      t    NATL'RK    AND    USE    OF   VERBAL    CRITICISM,    WITH     ITS    PRINCI- 
PAL   CANONS. 

■i'he  first  thing  in  elocution  that  claims  our  attention  is  pu- 
11  Y  ;  all  its  other  qualities  have  their  foundation  in  this.  The 
gicat  standard  of  purity  is  use,  whose  essential  properties,  as 
re^-hrding  language,  have  been  considered  and  explained  in 
tlu'  preceding  chapter.  But  before  I  proceed  to  illustrate  and 
specify  the  various  offences  against  purity,  or  the  ditferent 
ways  in  which  it  may  be  violated,  it  will  be  proper  to  inquire 
so  much  farther  into  the  nature  of  the  subject  as  will  enable 
us  to  fix  on  some  general  rules  or  canons  by  which,  in  all  our 
paiticular  decisions,  we  ought  to  be  directed.  This  I  have 
judged  the  more  necessary,  as  many  of  the  verbal  criticisms 
which  have  been  made  on  English  authors  since  the  begin- 
ning of  the  present  century  (for  in  this  island  we  had  little  or 
nothing  of  the  kind  before)  seem  to  have  pi*oceeded  either 
from  no  settled  principles  at  all,  or  from  such  as  will  not  bear 
a  near  examination.  There  is  this  farther  advantage  in  be- 
ginning with  establishing  certain  canons,  that  if  they  shall  be 
found  reasonable,  they  will  tend  to  make  what  remains  of  our 
road  both  shorter  and  clearer  than  it  would  otherwise  have 
been.  Much  in  the  way  of  illustration  and  eviction  may  be 
saved  on  the  particular  remarks.  And  if,  on  the  contrary, 
they  should  not  be  reasonable,  and,  consequently,  the  remarks 
raised  on  them  should  not  be  well  founded,  no  way  that  I  can 
think  of  bids  fairer  for  detecting  the  fallacy,  and  preventing 
every  reader  from  being  misled.  A  fluent  and  specious,  but 
superficial  manner  of  criticising,  is  very  apt  to  take  at  first, 
even  with  readers  whom  a  deliberate  examination  into  the 
principles  on  which  the  whole  is  built  would  quickly  unde- 
ceive. 

"  Hut,"  it  may  be  said,  "  if  custom,  which  is  so  capricious 
and  unaccountable,  is  everything  m.  language,  of  what  sigaifi- 


THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   RHETorac.  175 

("incc  is  cither  the  grammarian  or  the  critic  !"  Of  considcr- 
iiblc  significance  notwithstanding ;  and  of  most,  tlien,  wiicn 
thej^  confine  lliemselvcs  to  their  legal  departments,  and  do 
not  nsurp  an  anthoiity  that  dotli  not  belong  to  them.  Tlie 
man  who,  in  a  country  like  onrs,  should  compile  a  succinct, 
perspicuous,  and  faithCul  digest  of  the  laws,  though  no  law- 
giver, would  be  universally  acknowledged  to  be  a  public  bene- 
factor. How  easy  would  that  important  branch  of  knowl- 
edge be  rendered  by  such  a  work,  in  comparison  of  what  it 
must  be  when  we  have  nothing  to  have  recourse  to  but  a 
labyrinth  of  statutes,  reports,  and  opinions.  That  man,  also, 
would  be  of  considerable  use,  though  not  in  the  same  degree, 
who  should  vigilantly  attend  to  every  illegal  practice  that 
were  beginning  to  prevail,  and  evince  its  danger  by  exposing 
its  contrariety  to  law.  Of  similar  benefit,  though  in  a  diflTer- 
ent  sphere,  are  grammar  and  criticism.  In  language,  the 
grammarian  is  properly  the  compiler  of  the  digest ;  and  the 
verbal  critic,  the  man  who  seasonably  notifies  the  abuses  that 
are  creeping  in.  Both  tend  to  facilitate  the  study  of  the 
tongue  to  strangers,  and  to  render  natives  more  perfect  in  the 
knowledge  of  it,  to  advance  general  use  into  universal,  and  to 
give  a  greater  stability,  at  least,  if  not  a  permanency,  to  cus- 
tom, the  most  mutable  thing  in  nature.  These  are  advanta- 
ges which,  with  a  moderate  share  of  attention,  may  be  dis- 
covered from  what  hath  been  already  said  on  the  subject ; 
but  they  are  not  the  only  advantages.  P^om  what  I  shall 
have  occasion  to  observe  afterward,  it  will  probably  appear 
that  these  arts,  by  assisting  to  suppress  every  unlicensed 
term,  and  to  stigmatize  every  improper  idiom,  tend  to  give 
greater  precision,  and,  consequently,  more  perspicuity  and 
beauty  to  our  style. 

The  observations  made  in  the  preceding  chapter  might 
easily  be  converted  into  so  many  canons  of  criticism,  by 
which  whatever  is  repugnant  to  reputable,  to  national,  or  to 
present  use,  in  the  sense  wherein  these  epithets  have  been 
explained,  would  be  condemned  as  a  transgression  of  the 
radical  laws  of  the  language.  But  on  this  subject  of  use  there 
arise  tvpo  eminent  questions,  the  determination  of  which  may 
lead  to  the  establishment  of  other  canons  not  less  important. 
The  first  question  is  this  :  "  Is  reputable,  national,  and  pres- 
ent use,  which,  for  brevity's  sake,  I  shall  hereafter  simply  de- 
nominate good  use,  always  uniform  in  her  decisions?"  The 
second  is,  "  As  no  term,  idiom,  or  application  that  is  totally 
unsupported  by  her  can  he  admitted  to  be  good,  is  everv  term, 
idiom,  and  application  that  is  countenanced  by  her  to  be  es- 
teemed good,  and  therefore  worthy  to  be  retained  ?' 


176  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF    RHETORIC 

SECTION  I. 

GOOD    USE    NOT    ALWAYS    UNIFORM    IN    HER    DECISIONS. 

In  answer  to  the  former  of  these  questions,  I  acknowledge 
that  in  every  case  there  is  not  a  perfect  uniformity  in  the  de- 
terminations even  of  such  use  as  may  justly  be  denominated 
good.  Wherever  a  considerable  number  of  authorities  can 
be  produced  in  support  of  two  different,  though  resembling 
modes  of  expression  for  the  same  thing,  there  is  always  a  di- 
vided use,  and  one  cannot  be  said  to  speak  barbarously,  or  to 
oppose  the  usage  of  the  language,  who  conforms  to  either 
side.*  This  divided  use  hath  place  sometimes  in  single 
words,  sometimes  in  construction,  and  sometimes  in  arrange- 
ment. In  all  such  cases  there  is  scope  for  choice  ;  and  it  be- 
longs, without  question,  to  the  critical  art  to  lay  down  the 
principles  by  which,  in  doubtful  cases,  our  choice  should  be 
directed. 

There  are,  indeed,  some  differences  in  single  words,  which 
ought  still  to  be  retained.  They  are  a  kind  of  synonymas, 
and  afford  a  little  variety,  without  occasioning  any  inconve 
nience  whatever.!  In  arrangement,  too,  it  certainly  holds, 
that  various  manners  suit  various  styles,  as  various  styles 
suit  various  subjects,  and  various  sorts  of  composition.  For 
this  reason,  unless  when  some  obscurity,  ambiguity,  or  inel- 
egance is  created,  no  disposition  of  words  which  hath  obtain- 
ed the  public  approbation  ought  to  be  altogether  rejected.  In 
construction  the  case  is  somewhat  different.  Purity,  perspi- 
cuity, and  elegance  generally  require  that  in  this  there  be  the 
strictest  uniformity.  Yet  differences,  here,  are  not  only  al- 
lowable, but  even  convenient,  when  attended  with  corre- 
spondent differences  in  the  application.  Thus  the  verb  to 
found,  when  used  literally,  is  more  properly  followed  by  the 
preposition  on,  as,  "The  house  was  founded  on  a  rock  ;"  in  the 
metaphorical  application,  it  is  often  better  with  in,  as  in  this 

*  The  words  nmvise,  noway,  and  noways,  afford  a  proper  instance  of  this 
divided  use..  Yet  our  learned  and  ingenious  lexicographer  hath  denomina- 
ted all  those  who  either  write  or  pronounce  the  word  noways  ignorant  bar- 
barians. These  ignorant  barbarians  (but  he  hath  surely  not  adverted  to  this 
circumstance)  are  only  Pope,  and  Swift,  and  Addison,  and  Locke,  and  sev- 
eral others  of  our  most  celebrated  writers.  Tins  censure  is  the  more  as 
tonishing,  that  even  in  this  form  which  he  has  thought  fit  to  repudiate,  the 
meaning  assigned  to  it  is  strictly  conformable  to  that  which  etymology,  ac- 
cording to  his  own  explication,  would  suggest. — See  Johnson's  Dictionary 
on  the  words  nowise  and  way,  particularly  the  senses  of  way,  marked  with 
these  numbers,  15,  16,  18,  and  19. 

+  Such  are  fubterranean  and  subterraneous,  homogeneal  and  homogene- 
ous, authentic  and  authentical,  isle  and  island,  mount  and  mountain,  clime 
and  climate,  near  and  nigh,  betwixt  and  between,  amongst  and  among, 
amidst  and  amid.  Nor  do  1  see  any  hurt  that  would  ensue  from  adding 
nowise  and  noway  to  the  number. 


THE  rmLosoniY  or  itiiF/roiac.  177 

sentence,  "  They  maintained  tliat  dominion  is  ftmndcd  in 
pracc."  Both  sentences  would  be  badly  expressed  if  these 
prepositions  were  transposed,  Ihongli  there  are  perhaps  cases 
wherein  either  would  l)e  good.  h\  those  instances,  there- 
fore, of  divided  use,  which  give  scope  for  option,  the  follow- 
ing canons  are  humbly  proposed,  in  order  to  assist  us  in  as- 
signing the  preference.  Let  it,  in  the  mean  time,  be  remem- 
bered, as  a  point  always  presupposed,  that  the  authorities  on 
the  opposite  sides  arc  equal,  or  nearlj'  so.  When  those  on 
one  side  greatly  preponderate,  it  is  in  vain  to  oppose  the  pre- 
vailing usage.  Custom,  when  wavering,  may  be  swayed,  but 
when  reluctant  will  not  be  forced ;  and  in  this  department  a 
person  never  eflects  so  little  as  when  he  attempts  loo  much.* 

CANOJ^    THE    FIRST. 

The  first  canon,  then,  shall  be,  When  use  is  divided  as  to 
any  particular  word  or  phrase,  and  the  expression  used  by 
one  part  hath  been  preoccupied,  or  is  in  any  instance  suscep- 
tible of  a  different  signification,  and  the  exj)ression  employed 
by  the  other  part  never  admits  a  different  sense,  both  perspi 
cuity  and  variety  require  that  the  form  of  expression  which 
is  in  every  instance  strictly  univocal  be  preferred. 

For  this  reason,  aught,  signifying  anything,  is  preferable  to 
ought,  which  is  one  of  our  defective  verbs;  hy  consequence, 
meaning  consequently,  is  preferable  to  of  consequence,  as  this 
expression  is  often  employed  to  denote  momentous  or  im- 
portant. In  the  preposition  tuioard  and  towards,  and  the  ad- 
verbs forward  and  forwards,  backward  and  hackivards,  the  two 
forms  are  used  indiscriminately.  But  as  the  first  form  in  all 
these  is  also  an  adjective,  it  is  better  to  confine  the  particles 
to  the  second.  Custom,  too,  seems  at  present  to  lean  this 
way.  Besides  and  beside  serve  both  as  conjunctions  and  as 
prepositions. t  There  appears  some  tendency  at  present  to 
assign  to  each  a  separate  province.     This  tendency  ought  to 

*  For  this  reason,  it  is  to  no  purpose,  with  .Tohnson,  to  pronounce  thy 
word  newx  as  a  plural  (whatever  it  might  have  been  in  the  days  of  Sydney 
and  Raleigh),  since  custom  hath  evidently  determined  otherwise.  Nor  is 
the  observation  on  the  letter  [s]  in  his  Dictionary  well  fonnded,  that  "it 
seems  to  be  established  as  a  rule  that  no  noun  singular  should  end  with  [a] 
single  ;"  the  words  alms,  amends,  summons,  sous,  genus,  species,  genius,  chorus, 
and  several  others,  show  the  contrary.  For  the  same  reason,  the  words 
averse  and  aversion  are  more  properly  construed  with  to  than  v/ilh  from.  The 
examples  in  favour  of  the  latter  prciiosition  are  beyond  comparison  outnum- 
bered by  those  in  favour  of  the  former.  The  argument  from  etymology  is 
here  of  no  value,  being  taken  from  the  use  of  another  language.  Jf  by  tho 
same  rule  we  were  to  regulate  all  nouns  and  verbs  of  Latin  original,  ou" 
present  synta.^  would  be  overturned.  It  is  more  conformable  to  Englisl. 
analogy  with  to;  the  words  dislike  and  hatred,  nearly  synonymous,  are  thus 
constjued. 

+  These  nearly  correspond  to  the  conjunction  prceteria,  and  tlie  prcposi 
lion  proBter  in  Latin, 


178  THE  rijiixjsoi'HY  or  kiietokic. 

be  humoured  by  employing  only  the  former  as  the  conjunc- 
tion, the  latter  as  the  preposition. 

This  principle  likewise  leads  me  to  prefer  extemporary,  as 
an  adjective,  to  cxlem-pore,  which  is  properly  an  adverb,  and 
ought,  for  the  sake  of  precision,  to  be  restrained  to  that  use. 
It  is  only  of  late  that  this  last  term  begins  to  be  employed 
adjectivcly.  Thus  we  say,  with  equal  propriety,  an  extem- 
porary prayer,  an  extemporary  sermon,  and  he  prays  extempore, 
he  preaches  extempore.  I  know  not  how  Dr.  Priestley  hath 
happened  to  mention  the  term  extemporary  in  a  way  which 
would  make  one  think  he  considered  it  as  a  word  pecuhar  to 
Mr.  Hume.  The  word  hath  evidently  been  in  good  use  for  a 
longer  time  than  one  thinks  of  searching  back  in  quest  of 
authorities,  and  remains  in  good  use  to  this  day.  By  the 
same  rule,  we  ought  to  prefer  scarcely,  as  an  adverb,  to  scarce, 
which  is  an  adjective,  and  exceedingly,  as  an  adverb,  to  ex- 
ceeding, which  is  a  participle.  For  the  same  reason,  also,  I 
am  inclined  to  prefer  that  use  which  makes  ye  invariably  the 
nominative  plural  of  the  personal  pronoun  thou,  and  you  the 
accusative,  when  applied  to  an  actual  plurality.  When  used 
for  the  singular  number,  custom  hath  determined  that  it  shall 
be  you  in  both  cases.  This  renders  the  distinction  rather 
more  important,  as  for  the  n)ost  part  it  would  show  directly 
whether  one  or  more  were  addressed ;  a  point  in  which  we 
arc  often  liable  to  mistake  in  all  modern  languages.  From 
the  like  principle,  in  those  verbs  which  have  for  tlie  participle 
passive  both  the  preterit  form  and  one  peculiar,  the  peculiar 
form  ought  to  have  the  preference.  Thus,  I  have  gotten,  I 
have  hidden,  I  have  spoken,  are  better  than  I  have  got,  1  have 
htd,  I  have  spoke*  From  the  same  principle,  I  think  ate  is 
preferable  in  the  preterit  tense,  and  eaten  in  the  participle,  to 
eat,  which  is  the  constant  form  of  the  present,  though  some- 
times, also,  used  for  both  the  others. 

But  though,  in  this  judgment  concerning  the  participles,  I 
agree  entirely  with  all  our  approved  modern  grammarians,  I 
can  by  no  means  concur  with  some  of  them  in  their  man- 
ner of  supporting  it.  "We  should  be  immediately  shock- 
ed," says  one  of  the  best  of  them,f  '■  at  /  have  knem,  I  have 
saw,  I  have  gave,  &c.,  but  our  ears  are  grown  familiar  with 
/  have  wrote,  I  have  drank,  I  have  bore,  &.C.,  whieii  are  alto- 
gether as  baibarous."'  Nothing  can  be  more  inconsistent,  in 
my  opinion,  with  the  very  first  principles  of  grannnar,  than 
what  is  here  advanced.  This  ingenious  gentleman  surely 
will  not  pretend  that  there  is  a  barbarism  in  every  word 
which  serves  for  preterit   and  participle  both,  else  the  far 

*  Yet  [  should  prefer  "I  have  held,  hrlpcd,  milled,"  to  "  I  have  'widen,  Iwl- 
pen,  molten,"  thei-e  last  particnples  being  now  obsolete.  Jlolpen  is,  indeed- 
still  used  when  we  spoak  formally  of  courts  or  public  meetings. 

t  Lowtli's  Int:oduction  to  English  Grammar. 


THE    PHILOSOPHV    OF    EHETOEIC.  179 

greater  parts  of  the  preterits  and  participles  of  our  tongue 
are  barbarous.  If  not,  what  renders  many  of  them,  such  as 
loved,  hated,  sent,  brought,  good  English  when  employed  either 
way  ?  I  know  no  answer  that  can  be  given  but  custom ; 
that  is,  in  other  words,  our  ears  are  famiharized  to  them  by 
frequent  use.  And  what  was  ever  meant  by  a  barbarism  in 
speech  but  that  which  shocks  us  by  violating  the  coustant 
usage  in  speakng  or  in  writing  ?  If  so,  to  be  equally  barba- 
rous and  to  be  equally  shocking  are  synonymous,  whereas 
to  be  barbarous  and  to  be  in  familiar  use  are  a  contradiction 
in  terms.  Yet  in  this  manner  does  our  author  often  express 
himself.  '•  No  authorit}-,"  says  he  in  another  place,  "  is 
sufficient  to  justify  so  manifest  a  solecism."  No  man  need- 
ed less  to  be  informed  that  authority  is  everything  in  lan- 
guage, and  that  it  is  the  want  of  it  alone  that  constitutes  both 
the  barbarism  and  the  solecism. 

CANON  THE    SCCOND. 

The  second  canon  is,  In  doubtful  cases  regard  ought  to  be 
had  in  our  decisions  to  the  analogy  of  the  language. 

For  this  reason  I  prefer  contemporary  to  cotemporary.  The 
general  use  in  words  compounded  with  the  inseparable  prep 
osition  con  is  to  retain  the  [n]  before  a  consonant,  and  to  ex- 
punge it  before  a  vowel  or  an  [h]  mute.  Thus  we  say  con- 
discipline,  conjuncture,  concomitant ;  but  co-equal,  co-eternal,  co- 
incide, co-heir.  I  know  but  one  exception,  which  is  co-partner. 
But  ia  dubious  cases  we  ought  to  follow  the  rule,  and  not  the 
exception.  If  b\'  the  former  canon  the  adverbs  haclacards  and 
foncards  are  preferable  to  backward  'dw^.  forward,  by  this  can- 
on, from  the  principle  of  analogy,  afterwards  and  homewards 
should  be  preferred  to  afterward  and  homeward.  Of  the  two 
adverbs  thereabout  and  thereabouts,  compounded  of  the  parti- 
ciple there  and  the  preposition,  the  former  alone  is  analogical, 
there  being  no  such  word  in  the  language  as  abouis.  The 
same  holds  oi hereabout  and  whereabout.  In  the  verbs  to  dare 
and  to  need,  man\'  say,  in  the  third  person  present  singular, 
dare  and  need,  as,  "  he  need  not  go  :  he  dare  not  do  it."  Oth- 
ers say  dares  and  needs.  As  the  first  usage  is  exceedingly 
irregular,  hardly  anything  less  than  uniform  practice  could 
authorize  it.  This  rule  supplies  us  with  another  reason  for 
preferring  scarcely  and  exceedingly,  as  adverbs,  to  scarce  and 
exceeding.  The  phrases  Would  to  God  and  Would  God  can 
both  plead  the  authority  of  custom  ;  but  the  latter  is  strictly 
analogical,  the  former  is  not.  It  is  an  established  idiom  in 
the  English  tongue,  that  2.nj  of  the  auxiliaries  7night,  couJd, 
would,  should,  dCd,  and  had,  with  the  nominative  subjoined, 
should  express  sometimes  a  supposition,  sometimes  a  wish, 
which  of  the  two  it  expresses  in  any  instance  is  easily  dis- 
covered  from  the  context.     Thus  the   expression  ''  Would 


180  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

he  but  ask  it  of  me,"  denotes  either  "  If  he  would,  or  /  wish 
that  he  ivould  but  ask  it  of  me."  Would  God,  then,  is  proper- 
ly, I  ivisii  that  God  ivould,  or  O  that  God  would.  The  other 
expression  it  is  impossible  to  reconcile  to  analogy  in  any 
way.*  For  a  like  reason,  the  phrase  ever  so,  as  when  we 
say  "  though  he  were  ever  so  good,"  is  preferable  to  never  so. 
In  both  these  decisions  I  subscribe  to  the  judgment  of  Dr. 
Johnson.  Of  the  two  phrases  in  no  ivise,  in  three  words,  and 
nowise  in  one,  the  last  only  is  conformable  to  the  present 
genius  of  the  tongue.  The  noun  ivise,  signifying  manner, 
is  quite  obsolete.  It  remains  now  only  in  composition,  in 
which,  along  with  an  adjective  or  other  substantive,  it  forms 
an  adverb  or  conjunction.  Such  are  sidewise,  lengthwise, 
coastwise,  contrariivise,  likewise,  otherwise.  These  always  pre- 
serve the  compound  form,  and  never  admit  a  preposition ; 
consequently  noivise,  which  is  an  adverb  of  the  same  order, 
ought  analogically  to  be  written  in  one  word,  and  not  to  be 
preceded  by  in.  In  every  ancient  style  all  these  words  were 
uncompounded,  and  had  the  preposition.  They  said  in  like 
wise  and  in  other  wise.^  And  even  if  custom  at  present 
were  uniform,  as  it  is  divided,  in  admitting  in  before  nowise, 
it  ought  to  be  followed,  though  anomalous.  In  these  mat- 
ters it  is  foolish  to  attempt  to  struggle  against  the  stream. 
All  that  I  here  plead  for  is,  that  when  custom  varies,  an- 
alogy should  decide  the  question.  In  the  determination  of 
this  particular  instance  I  differ  from  Dr.  Priestley.  Some- 
times whether  is  followed  by  no,  sometimes  by  not.  For 
instance,  some  would  say  "  Whether  he  will  or  no ;"  others, 
"  Whether  he  will  or  not.''''  Of  these,  it  is  the  latter  only  that 
is  analogical.  There  is  an  ellipsis  of  the  verb  in  the  last 
clause,  which  when  you  supply,  you  find  it  necessary  to  use 
the  adverb  not,  "  Whether  he  will  or  will  not.''''  I  shall  only 
add,  that  by  both  the  preceding  canons  we  ought  always  to 
say  rend  in  the  present  of  the  indicative  and  of  the  infinitive, 
and  never  rent,  as  is  sometimes  done.     The  latter  term  hath 

*  What  has  given  rise  to  it  is  evidently  the  French  Plut  a  Dieu,  of  the 
same  import.  But  it  has  not  been  adverted  to  (so  servile  commonly  are 
imitators)  that  the  verb  plaire  is  impersonal,  and  regularly  construed  with  the 
preposition  a ;  neither  of  which  is  the  case  with  the  English  will  and  would. 

t  In  proof  of  this,  I  shall  produce  a  passage  taken  from  the  Prologue  of 
the  EiTgUsh  translation  of  the  Legenda  Aurea,  which  seems  to  have  been 
made  towards  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century.  "  I  haue  submysed  my 
selfe  to  translate  into  Engylsshe  the  legende  of  sayntes  vvhyche  is  called 
legenda  aurea  in  Latyn ;  that  is  to  saye,  the  golden  legende.  For  in  lyke 
wyseas  golde  is  moost  noble  aboue  all  other  metallys ;  in  like  wyse  is  thys 
legende  holden  moost  noble  aboue  all  other  werkes."  About  the  time  that 
our  present  version  of  the  Scriptures  was  made,  the  old  usage  was  wearing 
out.  The  phrase  in  like  wise  occurs  but  once  (Matt.,  xxi.,  24),  whereas  the 
compound  term  likewise  occurs  frequently.  We  find  in  several  places,  on 
this  wise,  in  any  wise,  and  in  no  wise.  The  first  two  phrases  are  now  obso- 
lete, and  the  third  eeems  to  be  in  a  state  which  Dr.  Johnson  calls  obsolescent 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  181 

been  preoccupied  by  the  preterit  and  the  participle  passive, 
besides  that  it  is  only  in  this  application  that  it  can  bo  said 
to  be  used  analogically.  For  this  reason,  the  active  parti- 
ciple ought  always  to  be  rending,  and  not  renting. 

CANON    TUE    THIRD. 

The  third  canon  is,  When  the  terms  or  expressions  are  in 
other  respects  equal,  that  ought  to  be  preferred  which  is  most 
agreeable  to  the  ear. 

This  rule  hath  perhaps  a  greater  chance  of  being  observed 
than  any  other,  it  having  been  the  general  bent  for  some  time 
to  avoid  harsh  sounds  and  unmusical  periods.  Of  this  we 
have  many  examples.  Delicateness  hath  very  properly  given 
way  to  delicacy  ;  and,  for  a  like  reason,  authenUcihj  will  prob- 
ably soon  displace  milhcniicalness,  and  vindictive  dispossess 
vindicative  altogether.  Na)S  a  regard  to  sound  hath,  in  some 
instances,  had  an  influence  on  the  public  choice,  to  the  prej- 
udice of  both  the  former  canons,  which  one  would  think 
ought  to  be  regarded  as  of  more  importance.  Thus  the  term 
ingenuity  hath  obtained  in  preference  to  ingcniousness,  though 
the  former  cannot  be  deduced  analogically  from  ingenious, 
and  had  besides  been  preoccupied,  and,  consequently,  would 
be  equivocal,  being  a  regular  derivative  from  the  term  inge- 
nious, if  the  newer  acceptation  had  not  before  now  supplant- 
ed the  other  altogether. 

CANON    THE    FOURTH. 

The  fourth  canon  is,  In  cases  wherein  none  of  the  forego- 
ing rules  gives  either  side  a  ground  of  preference,  a  regard 
to  simplicity  (in  which  I  include  etymology  when  manifest) 
ought  to  determine  our  choice. 

Under  the  name  simplicity  I  must  be  understood  to  com- 
prehend also  brevity;  for  that  expression  is  always  the  sim- 
plest which,  with  equal  purity  and  perspicuity,  is  the  briefest. 
We  have,  for  instance,  several  active  verbs  which  are  used 
either  with  or  without  a  preposition  indiscriminately.  Thus 
we  say  either  accept  or  accept  of,  admit  or  admit  of,  approve  or 
approve  of ;  in  like  manner,  address  or  address  to,  attain  or  at- 
tain to.  In  such  instances  it  will  hold,  I  suppose,  pretty  gen- 
erally, that  the  simple  form  is  preferable.  This  appears  par- 
ticularly in  the  passive  voice,  in  which  every  one  must  see 
the  difterence.  "  Ilis  present  was  accepted  of  by  his  friend" 
— "  His  excuse  was  admitted  of  by  his  master" — "  The  magis- 
trates were  addressed  to  by  the  townsmen,"  are  evidently 
much  worse  than  "  His  present  was  accepted  by  his  friend'" 
— "  His  excuse  was  admitted  by  his  master" — "  Tlie  magis- 
trates were  addressed  by  the  townsmen."  We  have  but  too 
many  of  this  awkward,  disjointed  sort  of  compouiids,  and 
therefore  ought  not   to   multiply  them   withour,   necessity. 

li 


182  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

Now,  if  once  the  preposition  should  obtain  in  the  active 
voice,  the  rules  of  syn'ax  will  absolutely  require  it  in  the 
passive.  Sometimes,  indeed,  the  verb  hath  two  regimens, 
and  then  the  preposition  is  necessary  to  one  of  them,  as,  "  I 
address  myself  to  my  judges."  "  They  addressed  their  vows 
to  Apollo."     But  of  such  cases  I  am  not  here  speaking. 

Both  etymology  and  analogy,  as  well  as  euphony  and  sim- 
plicity, determine  us  in  prel'er-ring  subtract  to  substract,  and, 
consequently,  subtraction  to  substraciion*  ^ 

CANON    THE    FIFTH. 

The  tifth  and  only  other  canon  that  occurs  to  me  on  the 
subject  of  divided  use  is.  In  the  few  cases  wherein  neither 
perspicuity  nor  analogy,  neither  sound  nor  simplicity,  assists 
us  in  fixing  our  choice,  it  is  safest  to  prefer  that  manner 
which  is  most  conformable  to  ancient  usage. 

This  is  founded  on  a  very  plain  maxim,  that  in  language, 
as  in  several  other  things,  change  itself,  unless  when  it  is 
clearly  advantageous,  is  ineligible.  This  affords  another 
reason  for  preferring  that  usage  which  distinguishes  ye  as  the 
nominative  plural  of  thou,  when  more  than  one  are  addressed, 
from  you  the  accusative.  For  it  may  be  remarked  that  this 
distinction  is  very  regularly  observed  in  our  translation  of 
the  Bible,  as  well  as  in  all  our  best  ancient  authors.  Milton, 
too,  is  particularly  attentive  to  it.  The  words  causey  and 
causeway  are  at  present  used  promiscuously,  though  1  do  not 
know  whether  there  be  any  difference  but  in  the  spelling. 
The  old  way  is  causey,  which,  as  there  appears  no  good  rea 
son  for  altering  it,  ought  to  be  held  the  best.  The  alteration, 
I  suppose,  hath  sprung  from  some  mistaken  notion  about  the 
etymology  ;  but  if  the  notion  had  been  just,  the  reason  would 
not  have  been  sufficient.  It  tends,  besides,  either  to  intro- 
duce a  vitiated  pronunciation,  or  to  add  to  the  anomalies  in 
orthography  (by  far  too  numerous  already)  with  which  the 
language  is  encumbered.  Much  the  same  may  be  said  of 
jail  and  goal,  jailer  and  goalcr.  That  j(at7  ^wA  jailer  have  been 
first  used  is  probable,  from  the  vulgar  translation  of  the  Bible. f 
The  quotations  on  the  other  side  from  Shakspeare  are  not 

*  Subtract  is  regularly  deduced  from  the  supine  sxibtractum.  of  the  Latin 
verb  subtraho,  in  the  same  way  as  act  from  actum,  the  supine  of  ao;o,  and 
translate  Jrom  translatmn,  the  supme  of  transfero.  But  it  would  be  quite  un- 
exampled to  derive  the  English  verb  from  the  French  soustraire.  Besides, 
there  is  not  another  instance  in  the  language  of  a  word  beginning  with  the 
Latin  preposition  sub,  where  the  sub  is  followed  by  an  s.  unless  when  the 
original  word  compo"inded  with  the  preposition  begms  with  an  s.  Thus  we 
say  subscribe  from  sub  and  scribo,  subsist  from  sttb  and  sisto,  substitute  from 
sub  and  statito.  But  we  cannot  say  substract  from  sub  and  straho,  there  be- 
ing no  such  word.  There  can  be  no  doubt,  therefore,  that  a  mistaken  ety- 
mology, arising  from  an  affinity  to  the  French  term,  not  in  the  verb,  but  in 
the  verbal  noun,  has  given  rise  to  this  harsh  anomaly. 

t  Acts,  xvi.  23. 


THE    nilLOSOrUY    OF    RHETORIC.  183 

much  to  be  minded,  as  it  is  well  known  that  his  editors  have 
taken  a  good  deal  of  freedom  with  his  ortliography.  The 
argument,  from  its  derivation  from  the  French  geole,  is  very 
puerile.  For  the  same  reason,  we  ought  to  write  jarlcr  and 
not  garter,  and  plead  the  spelling  of  the  French  primitive 
jartiere.  Nor  would  it  violate  the  laws  of  pronunciation  in 
English  more  to  sound  the  [  ja]  as  though  it  were  written 
[ga],  than  to  sound  the  [ga]  as  though  it  were  written  [  ja]. 

SECTION  II. 

EVERYTHING  FAVOURED  BY  GOOD  USE  NOT  ON  THAT  ACCOUNT  WOR- 
THY TO  BE  RETAINED. 

1  COME  now  to  the  second  question  for  ascertaining  both 
the  extent  of  the  autiiority  claimed  by  custom,  and  the  right- 
ful prerogatives  of  criticism.  As  no  term,  idiom,  or  applica- 
tion that  is  totally  unsupported  by  use  can  be  admitted  to  be 
good,  is  every  term,  idiom,  and  application  that  is  counte- 
nanced by  use  to  be  esteemed  good,  and  therefore  worthy  to 
be  retained  ]  1  answer,  that  though  nothing  in  language  can 
be  good  from  which  use  withholds  her  approbation,  there  may 
be  many  things  to  which  she  gives  it  that  are  not  in  all  re- 
spects good,  or  such  as  are  worthy  to  be  retained  and  imita- 
ted. In  some  instances  custom  may  very  properly  be  checked 
by  criticism,  which  hath  a  sort  of  negative,  and,  though  not 
the  censorian  power  of  instant  degradation,  the  privilege  of 
remonstrating,  and  by  means  of  this,  when  used  discreetly, 
of  bringing  what  is  bad  into  disrepute,  and  so  cancelling  it 
gradually,  but  which  hath  no  positive  right  to  establish  any- 
thing. Her  power,  too,  is  like  that  of  eloquence  ;  she  oper- 
ates on  us  purely  by  persuasion,  depending  for  success  on 
the  solidity,  or,  at  least,  the  speciousness  of  her  arguments ; 
whereas  custom  hath  an  unaccountable  and  irresistible  influ- 
ence over  us,  an  influence  which  is  prior  to  persuasion,  and 
independent  of  it,  nay,  sometimes  even  in  contradiction  to  it. 
Of  diflerent  modes  of  expression,  that  which  comes  to  be  fa- 
voured by  general  practice  may  be  denominated  best,  because 
established ;  but  it  cannot  always  be  said  w-ith  truth  that  it  is 
established  because  best.  And  therefore,  though  I  agree  in 
the  genei'al  principles  maintained  by  Priestley*  on  this  sub- 
ject, I  do  not  concur  in  this  sentiment  as  holding  imiversally, 
that  "  the  best  forms  of  speech  will  in  time  establish  them- 
selves by  their  own  superior  excellence."  Time  and  chance 
have  an  influence  on  all  things  human,  and  on  nothing  more 
remarkably  than  on  language ;  insomuch  that  we  often  see 
that,  of  various  forms,  those  will  recommend  themselves  and 
come  into  general  use  which,  if  abstractly  considered,  are 
neither  the  simplest  nor  the  most  agreeable  to  the  ear,  nor 

*  Preface  to  the  Rudiments  of  English  Grammar. 


184  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

the  most  conformable  to  analogy.  And  though  we  canno. 
say  properly  of  any  expression  which  has  the  sanction  of 
good  use,  that  it  is  barbarous,  we  must  admit  that,  in  other 
respeets,  it  may  be  faulty. 

It  is  therefore,  I  acknowledge,  not  without  meaning  that 
Swift,  in  the  proposal  above  quoted,*  affirms  that  "  there  are 
many  gross  improprieties  which,  though  authorized  by  prac- 
tice, ought  to  be  discarded."  Now,  in  order  to  discard  them, 
nothing  more  is  necessary  than  to  disuse  them.  And  to  bring 
us  to  disuse  them,  both  the  example  and  the  arguments  of 
the  critic  will  have  their  weight.  A  very  little  attention  will 
satisfy  every  reasonable  person  of  the  diffei-ence  there  is  be- 
tween the  bare  omission,  or,  rather,  the  not  employing  of 
what  is  used,  and  the  introduction  of  what  is  unusual.  The 
former,  provided  what  you  substitute  in  its  stead  be  proper, 
and  have  the  authority  of  custom,  can  never  come  under  the 
observation,  or,  at  least,  the  reprehension  of  a  reader,  where- 
as the  latter  shocks  our  ears  immediately.  Here,  therefore, 
lies  one  principal  province  of  criticism,  to  point  out  the  char- 
acters of  those  words  and  idioms  which  deserve  to  be  dis- 
franchised and  consigned  to  perpetual  oblivion.  It  is  by 
carefully  filing  oft"  all  roughnesses  and  inequalities  that  lan- 
guages, like  metals,  must  be  polished.  This,  indeed,  is  an 
effect  of  taste.  And  hence  it  happens,  that  the  first  rudi- 
ments of  taste  no  sooner  appear  in  any  people,  than  the  lan- 
guage begins,  as  it  were  of  itself,  to  emerge  out  of  that  state 
of  rudeness  in  which  it  will  ever  be  found  in  uncivihzed  na- 
tions. As  they  improve  in  art  and  sciences,  their  speech  re 
fines ;  it  not  only  becomes  I'icher  and  more  comprehensive 
but  acquires  greater  precision,  perspicuity,  and  harmony. 
This  effect  taste  insensibly  produces  among  the  people  long 
before  the  language  becomes  the  object  of  their  attention. 
But  when  criticism  hath  called  forth  their  attention  to  this 
object,  there  is  a  probability  that  the  effect  will  be  accelera- 
ted. 

It  is,  however,  no  less  certain,  on  the  other  hand,  that  in 
the  declension  of  taste  and  science,  language  will  unavoida- 
bly degenerate,  and  though  the  critical  art  may  retard  a  lit- 
tle, it  will  never  be  able  to  preVent  this  degeneracy.  1  shall 
therefore  subjoin  a  few  remarks  under  the  form  of  canons,  in 
relation  to  those  words  or  expressions  which  may  be  thought 
to  merit  degradation  from  the  rank  they  have  hitherto  main- 
tained, submitting  these  remarks  entirely,  as  everything  of 
the  kind  must  be  submitted,  to  the  final  determination  of  the 
impartial  public.^^ 

-^^      CANON    THE    SIXTH. 

The  first  canon  oh  this  subject  is,  All  words  and  phrases 

*  For  asceriainiijg  ihe  English  tongue  ;  see  the  Letter  to  the  Lord  high 

Treasurer. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF    EHETORIC.  183 

which  are  remarkably  harsli  and  unharmouious,  and  not  ab- 
solutely necessarj-,  may  justly  be  judged  worthy  of  this  fate 

I  call  a  word  or  phrase  absolutely  necessary  when  we  have 
no  synonymous  words,  in  the  event  of  a  dismission,  to  sup- 
ply its  place,  or  no  way  of  conveying  properly  the  same 
idea  without  tlie  aid  of  circumlocution.  The  rule,  with  this 
limitation,  will,  I  believe,  be  gencralh^  assented  to.  The  only 
difficulty  is  to  fix  the  criteria  by  wiiich  wc  may  discriminate 
the  obnoxious  words  from  all  others. 

It  may  well  be  reckoned  that  we  have  lighted  on  one  cri- 
terion, when  we  have  found  a  decompound  or  term  composed 
of  words  already  compounded,  whereof  the  several  parts  are 
not  easily,  and,  therefore,  not  closely  united.  Such  are  the 
y/ordsMcire-faced-ness,  shamc-faced-ness,  un-success-ful-ness,  dis- 
inter cst-ed-ness,  wrong-hcad-ed-ncss,  lender-heart- ed-ness.  They 
are  so  heavy  an(T  drawling,  and,  withal,  so  ill-compacted,  that 
they  have  not  more  vivacity  than  a  periphrasis  to  compensate 
for  the  defect  of  harmony. 

Another  criterion  is,  when  a  word  is  so  formed  and  ac- 
cented as  to  render  it  of  difficult  utterance  to  the  speaker, 
and,  consequently,  disagreeable  in  sound  to  the  hearer.  This 
happens  in  two  cases  :  first,  when  the  syllables  which  imme- 
diately follow  the  accented  syllable  are  so  crowded  with  con- 
sonants as,  of  necessity,  to  retard  the  pronunciation.  The 
words  questionless,  chrdniclers,  conventiclers,  conciipiscence,  re- 
membrancer, are  examples  of  this.  The  accent  in  all  these 
is  on  the  antepenultimate,  for  which  reason  the  last  two  syl- 
lables ought  to  be  pronounced  quick ;  a  thing  scarcely  prac- 
ticable, on  account  of  the  number  of  consonants  which  occur 
in  these  syllables.  The  attempt  to  quicken  the  pronunciation, 
though  familiar  to  Englishmen,  exhibits  to  strangers  the  ap- 
pearance of  awkward  hurry,  instead  of  that  easy  fluency  to 
be  found  in  those  words  wherein  the  unaccented  syllables 
are  naturally  short.  Such  are  Uviiy,  vanity,  avidity,  all  ac- 
cented in  like  manner  on  the  antepenultimate.  The  second 
case  in  which  a  similar  dissonance  is  found  is  when  too  many 
syllables  follow  the  accented  syllable  ;  for,  thougli  these  be 
naturally  short,  their  number,  if  they  exceed  two,  makes  a 
disagreeable  pronunciation.  Examples  of  this  are  the  words 
pri/narily,  citrsorili/.  summarily,  peremptorily,  percmptorincss,  vin- 
dicative ;  all  of  which  are  accented  on  the  fourth  syllable  from 
the  end.  It  is  to  be  wished  that  the  use  which  now  prevails 
in  regard  to  the  manner  of  accenting  some  words  would  al- 
ter, as  we  cannot  afford  to  part  with  every  term  that  is  liable 
to  exception  in  this  respect.  Nor  is  a  change  here  to  be 
despair'3d  of,  since  we  find  it  hath  happened  to  several  words 
alreadj%  as  the  places  which  they  occupy  in  ancient  poetry 
sufficiently  eviiice. 

A  third  criterion  is  when  a  short  or  uuaccentcd  syllable  is 
Q2 


ISO  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

repeated,  or  followed  by  another  short  or  unaccented  syllable 
very  much  resembling.  This  always  gives  the  appearance 
of  stammering  to  the  pronunciation.  8ucli  were  the  woi-ds 
hdlily,  fdrnerhig,  silUlij.  We  have  not  many  words  charge- 
able with  this  fault ;  nay,  so  early  have  the  people  been  sensi- 
ble of  the  disagreeable  sound  occasioned  by  such  recurrences, 
that  it  would  appear  they  have  added  the  adverbial  termina- 
tion to  very  few  of  our  adjectives  ending  in  ly.  I  believe 
there  are  no  examples  extant  of  heavenlily,  godlily,  timelily, 
dailily.  Johnson  hath  given  us  in  his  Dictionary  the  word 
loirliiy,  which  is  as  bad  as  any  of  them,  but  without  quoting 
authorities.  In  these  and  such  like,  the  simple  forms,  as 
heavenly,  godly,  timely,  daily,  homely,  courtly,  comely,  seem  al- 
ways to  have  served  both  for  adjective  and  adverb,  though 
this  too  hath  its  inconvenience.  It  deserves^our  notice,  that 
the  repetition  of  a  syllable  is  never  offensive  when  eitlier 
one  or  both  are  long,  as  in  papa,  mamma,  murmur,  tartar,  bar- 
barous, lily. 

Besides  the  cases  aforesaid,  I  know  of  none  that  ought  to 
dispose  us  to  the  total  disuse  of  words  really  significant.  A 
little  harshness  by  the  collision  of  consonants,  which,  never- 
theless, our  organs  find  no  difficulty  in  articulating,  and  which 
do  not  suggest  to  the  hearer  the  disagreeable  idea  either  of 
precipitation  or  of  stammering,  are  by  no  means  a  sufficient 
reason  for  the  suppression  of  a  useful  term.  The  monosyl- 
lables jm^^W,  drudg'd,grudg'd,  which  some  have  thought  very 
offensive,  appear  not  in  the  least  exceptionable,  compared 
with  the  words  above  mentioned.  It  would  not  do  well  to 
introduce  such  hard  and  strong  sounds  too  frequently ;  but 
wlien  they  are  used  sparingly  and  properly,  they  have  even 
a  good  effect.  Variety  in  sound  is  advantageous  to  a  lan- 
guage ;  and  it  is  convenient  that  we  should  have  some  sounds 
that  are  rough  and  masculine,  as  well  as  some  that  are  liquid 
and  feminine. 

I  observe  this  the  rather,  because  I  think  there  is  at  pres 
ent  a  greater  risk  of  going  too  far  in  refining  than  of  not  going 
far  enough.  The  ears  of  some  critics  are  immoderately  del- 
icate. A  late  essayist,*  one  who  seems  to  possess  a  consid- 
erable share  of  ingenuity  and  taste,  proposes  the  utter  extir- 
pation of  encroach,  encroachment,  inculcate,  purport,  methinksy 
and  some  others,  the  precise  meaning  of  which  we  have  no 
single  words  in  English  that  perfectly  express.  An  ear  so 
nice  as  to  be  hurt  by  these,  appears  to  me  in  the  same  light 
as  a  stomach  so  squeamish  as  to  nauseate  our  beef  and  beer, 
the  ordinary  food  of  the  country.  Such  ears,  I  should  say, 
are  not  adapted  to  our  speech,  nor  sucli  stomachs  to  our  cli- 
mate.    This  humour,  were  it  to  become  general,  would  give 

*  Sketches  by  Launcelot  Temple,  Esq.,  of  laie  republished  and  owned 
by  Dr.  Armstrong. 


THE  riiiT.osorirY  of  RiiETonic.  187 

a  very  unfavourable  aspect  to  the  language  ;  and  it  miglit  ad- 
mit a  question  whether,  on  such  principles,  if  an  expurgation 
of  the  vocabulary  were  attempted,  tliere  would  remain  one 
third  of  the  whole  stock  that  would  not  be  deemed  worthy 
of  excision.  This  would  be  particularly  inconvenient,  if 
everybod}'  were  as  much  an  enemy  as  this  gentleman  seems 
to  be  to  all  newfashioned  terms  and  phrases.  We  should 
hardly  have  words  enough  left  for  necessary  purposes.* 

CANON   THE   SEVENTH. 

The  second  canon  on  this  subject  is.  When  etymology 
plainly  points  to  a  signification  difl'erent  from  that  which  the 
word  commonly  bears,  propriety  and  simplicity  both  require 
its  dismission. 

I  use  the  word  plainhj,  because,  when  the  etymology  is 
from  an  ancient  or  foreign  language,  or  from  obsolete  roots 
in  our  own  language,  or  when  it  is  obscure  or  doubtful,  no 
regard  should  be  had  to  it.  The  case  is  different  when  the 
roots  either  are,  or  strongly  appear  to  be,  English,  arc  in 
present  use,  and  clearly  suggest  another  meaning.  Of  this 
kind  is  the  word  beholden  for  obliged  or  indebted.     It  should 

*  I  shall  only  observe  here  by  the  way,  that  those  languages  which  are  al- 
lowed to  be  the  most  susceptible  of  all  the  graces  of  harmony,  have  admitted 
many  ill-sounding  words.  Such  are  in  Greek  aTrXxyxyi^i'rdi'L,  T:{)on<l>Otyiaadai, 
ty)(fiifi<^Qtii,  KtKOKOKa,  ficiiifirjiitvov.  In  the  last  two  one  finds  a  dissonant  re- 
currence of  the  same  letter  to  a  degree  quite  unexampled  with  us.  There 
is,  however,  such  a  mixture  of  long  and  short  syllables,  as  prevents  that 
dilliculty  of  utterance  which  was  remarked  in  some  English  words.  Such 
are  also,  in  Latin,  dixisses,  spississimtis,  pcrcrebrcsccbaiUque.  The  last  of 
these  words  is  very  rough,  and  the  first  two  have  as  much  of  the  hissing 
letters  as  any  English  word  whatever.  The  Italian  is  considered,  and  I  be- 
lieve justly,  as  the  most  musical  of  all  languages,  yet  there  are  in  it  some 
sounds  which  even  to  us,  accustomed  to  a  dialect  boisterous  like  our  weath- 
er, appear  harsh  and  jarring.  Such  are  incrockckiare,  sdruccioloso,  sprcgiat- 
rice.  There  is  a  great  difference  between  words  which  sound  harshly,  but 
are  of  easy  pronunciation  to  the  natives,  and  those  words  which  even  to 
natives  occasion  difficulty  in  the  utterance,  and,  consequently,  convey  some 
idea  of  awkwardness  to  ihe  hearer,  which  is  prejudicial  to  the  design. 
There  are,  in  the  languages  of  all  countries,  many  words  which  foreigners 
will  find  a  difficulty  in  pronouncing  that  the  natives  have  no  conception  of. 
The  Greeks  could  not  easily  articulate  the  Latin  terminations  in  ans  and 
ens.  On  the  other  hand,  there  were  many  sounds  in  Greek  which  appeared 
intolerable  to  the  Latins,  such  as  words  beginning  with  piv,  <pO,  \^,.  Trr,  «r, 
and  many  others.  No  people  have  so  studiously  avoided  the  collision  of 
consonants  as  the  Italians.  To  their  delicate  ears,  pt,  ct,  and  c»-  ovx,  though 
belonging  to  different  syllables,  and  interposed  between  vowels,  are  oll'en- 
sive,  nor  can  they  easily  i)ronounce  them.  Instead  of  apta,  and  lecto,  and 
Alexandra,  they  must  say  alto,  and  Ictto,  and  Allessandro.  Yet  these  very 
people  begin  some  of  their  words  with  the  three  consonants  sdr.  which  to 
our  ears  are  perfectly  shocking.  It  is  not,  therefore,  so  much  harshness  of 
sound  as  difficulty  of  utterance  that  shouki  make  some  words  be  rejected 
altogether.  The  latter  tends  to  divert  our  attention,  and,  consequently,  to 
obstruct  the  effect.  The  former  hath  not  this  tendency,  unless  they  be 
obtruded  on  U3  too  frequently. 


188  THE  ruiLosoniY  op  rhetoric. 

regularly  be  the  passive  participle  of  the  verb  to  behold,  which 
would  convey  a  sense  totally  ditTercnt.  Not  that  I  considei 
,  the  term  as  equivocal,  for  in  the  last  acceptation  it  hath  long 
since  been  disused,  having  been  supplanted  by  beheld.  But 
the  formation  of  the  word  is  so  analogical  as  to  make  it  have 
at  least  the  appearance  of  impropriety  when  used  in  a  sense 
that  seems  naturally  foreign  to  it.  The  word  beholding,  to 
express  the  same  thing,  is  still  more  exceptionable -than  the 
other,  and  includes  a  real  impropriety,  being  an  active  form 
with  a  passive  signification.  To  vouchsafe,  as  denoting  to 
condescend,  is  liable  to  a  similar  exception,  and  for  that  rea- 
son, more  than  for  its  harshness,  may  be  dispensed  with. 
Coaction  and  coactive,  as  signifying  compulsion  and  compulsive, 
though  regularly  deduced  from  the  Latin  coactum,  have  so 
much  the  appearance  of  being  compounded  of  the  English 
vv^ords  action  and  active,  with  the  inseparable  preposition  co, 
which  would  give  them  a  meaning  quite  different,  that  one 
can  scarcely  hear  then^  without  some  tendency  to  mistake 
the  sense.  The  verb  to  unloose  should  analogically  signify  to 
tie,  in  like  manner  as  to  untie  signifies  to  loose.  To  what  pur- 
pose is  it,  then,  to  retain  a  term,  without  any  necessity,  in  a 
signification  the  reverse  of  that  which  its  etymology  mani- 
festly suggests  ]  In  the  same  way,  to  annul  and  to  disannul 
ought  by  analogy  to  be  contraries,  though  irregularly  used 
as  synonymous.  The  verb  to  unravel,  commonly,  indeed,  as 
well  as  analogically,  signifies  to  disentangle,  to  extricate  ; 
sometimes,  however,  it  is  absurdly  employed  to  denote  the 
contrary,  to  disorder,  to  entangle,  as  in  these  lines  in  the  ad- 
dress to  the  goddess  of  Dulness, 

"  Or  quite  unravel  all  the  reasoning  thread, 
And  hang  some  curious  cobweb  in  its  stead."* 

All  considerations  of  analogy,  propriety,  perspicuity,  unite 
in  persuading  us  to  repudiate  this  preposterous  application 
altogether. 

CANON   THE    EIGHTH. 

The  third  canon  is,  When  any  words  become  obsolete,  or, 
at  least,  are  never  used,  except  as  constituting  part  of  par- 
ticular phrases,  it  is  better  to  dispense  with  their  service  en- 
tirely, and  give  up  the  phrases. 

The  reasons  are,  first,  because  the  disuse  in  ordinary  ca- 
ses renders  the  term  somewhat  indefinite,  and  occasions  a 
degree  of  obscurity ;  secondly,  because  the  introduction  of 
words  which  never  appear  but  with  the  same  attendants, 
gives  the  style  an  air  of  vulgarity  and  cant.  Examples  of 
tills  we  have  in  the  words  lief,  dint,  whit,  moot,  pro,  and  con, 
as,  "  I  had  as  lief  go  myself,"  for  "  I  should  like  as  well  to  go 

*  Dunciad,  b.  i. 


THE    PIIILOSOniY    OF    RIIETOBTC.  18J) 

myself."  "  He  convinced  his  antagonist  hi/  dint  nfaro^ument" 
that  is,  "  b}'  strength  of  argnmcnt."  "  He  made  thorn  yield 
by  dint  of  arms" — "  by  force  of  arms."  "  He  is  not  a  ichil  bet- 
ter'''— "no  better."  "The  case  you  mention  is  a  moot  point'''' 
— "  a  disputable  point."  "  The  question  was  strenuously  de- 
bated pro  and  con"— "on  both  sides." 

CANON  THE  NINTH. 

The  fourth  and  last  canon  I  propose  is,  All  those  phrases 
which,  when  analyzed  grammatically,  include  a  solecism,  and 
all  those  to  which  use  hath  affixed  a  particular  sense,  but 
which,  when  explained  by  the  general  and  established  rules 
of  the  language,  are  susceptible  either  of  a  different  sense  or 
of  no  sense,  ought  to  be  discarded  altogether. 

It  is  this  kind  of  phraseology  which  is  distinguished  by  the 
epithet  idiomatical,  and  hath  been  originally  the  spawn  partly 
of  ignorance  and  partly  of  affectation.  Of  the  first  sort,  which 
includes  a  solecism,  is  the  phrase,  "  I  had  rather  ({o  such  a 
thing,"  for  "  I  would  rather  do  it."  The  auxiliary  had,  joined 
to  the  infinitive  active  do,  is  a  gross  violation  of  the  rules  of 
conjugation  in  our  language,  and  though  good  use  may  be 
considered  as  protecting  this  expression  from  being  branded 
with  the  name  of  a  blunder,  yet,  as  it  is  both  irregular  and 
unnecessary,  I  can  foresee  no  inconvenience  that  will  arise 
from  dropping  it.  I  have  seen  this  idiom  criticised  in  some 
essay,  whose  name  I  cannot  now  remember,  and  its  origin 
very  naturally  accounted  for,  by  supposing  it  to  have  sprung 
from  the  contraction  /W,  which  supplies  tiie  place  both  of/ 
had  and  of  /  ivould,  and  which  had  been  at  first  ignorantly 
resolved  into  /  had  when  it  ought  to  have  been  /  would.  The 
phrase,  thus  frequently  mistaken,  hath  come  at  length  to  es- 
tablish itself  and  to  stand  on  its  own  foot.* 

Of  the  second  sort,  which,  when  explained  grammatically, 
leads  to  a  different  sense  from  what  the  words  in  conjunction 
commonly  bear,  is,  "  He  sings  a  good  song,"  for  "  he  sings 
well."  The  plain  meaning  of  the  words  as  they  stand  con- 
nected is  very  different,  for  who  sees  not  that  a  good  song 
may  be  ill  sung  !  Of  the  same  stamp  is,  "  He  plays  a  good 
fiddle,"  for  "  he  plays  well  on  the  fiddle."    This  seems  also 

*  Whether,  with  Johnson  and  Lowth,  we  should  consider  the  phrases  by 
this  means,  by  that  means,  it  is  a  means,  as  liable  to  the  same  exception,  is 
perhaps  more  doubtful.  Priestley  considers  the  word  means  as  of  both  num- 
bers, and  of  such  nouns  we  have  several  examples  in  the  language.  But  it 
may  be  objected,  that  as  the  singular  form  mean  is  still  frequently  to  be  met 
with,  this  must  inevitably  give  to  the  above  phrases  an  appearance  of  sole- 
cism in  the  judgment  of  those  who  are  accustomed  to  attend  to  the  rules 
of  syntax.  But,  however  this  may  induce  such  critics  to  avoid  the  ex- 
pression in  question,  no  person  of  taste,  I  presume,  will  venture  so  far  to 
violate  the  present  usage,  and,  consequently,  to  shock  the  ears  of  the  gen- 
erality of  readers,  as  to  say  "  I3y  this  mean"  or  "  By  that  mean." 


190  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

to  involve  a  solecism.  We  speak,  indeed,  of  playing  a  tune, 
but  it  is  ahvays  on  the  instrument. 

Nothing  can  be  more  common  or  less  proper  than  to  speak 
of  a  river's  emptying  itself.  Dr.  Johnson,  in  his  Dictionary, 
explains  the  verb  to  empty,  as  importing  to  evacuate,  to  exhaust. 
Among  his  authorities  we  have  this  sentence  from  Arbulhnot. 
"  The  Euxine  Sea  is  conveniently  situated  for  trade,  by  the 
communication  it  has  with  Asia  and  Europe,  and  the  great 
navigable  rivers  that  empty  themselves  into  it."  Passing  the 
word  rivers  as  a  metonymy  for  their  channels,  are  these  ever 
"  evacuated  or  exhausted  ■?"  To  say  a  river  falls  into  the  sea, 
or  a  ship  falls  down  the  river,  is  entirely  proper,  as  the  mo- 
tion is  no  other  than  a  fall  down  a  real  though  gentle  declivity. 

Under  the  third  sort,  which  can  scarcely  be  considered  as 
literally  conveying  any  sense,  inay  be  ranked  a  number  of 
vile,  but  common  phrases,  sometimes  to  be  found  in  good 
authors,  like  shooting  at  rovers,  having  a  month's  mind,  currying 
favour,  dancing  attendance,  and  many  others.  Of  the  same 
kind,  also,  though  not  reprehensible  in  the  same  degree,  is 
the  idiomatical  use  that  is  sometimes  made  of  certain  verbs, 
as  stand  for  insist :  "  He  stands  upon  securitj^ ;"  take  for  un- 
derstand, in  such  phrases  as  these  :  "  You  take  me,"  and  "  as 
I  take  it ;"  hold  for  continue,  as  "  he  does  not  hold  long  in  one 
mind."  But  of  all  kinds,  the  worst  is  that  wherein  the  words, 
when  construed,  are  susceptible  of  no  meaning  at  all.  Such 
an  expression  as  the  following,  "  There  were  seven  ladies  ir 
the  company,  every  one  prettier  than  another,"  by  which  it 
is  intended,  I  suppose,  to  denote  that  they  were  all  very 
pretty.  One  prettier  implies  that  there  is  another  less  pret- 
ty, but  where  every  one  is  prettier,  there  can  be  none  less, 
and,  consequently,  none  more  pretty.  Such  trash  is  the 
disgrace  of  any  tongue.  Ambitiously  to  display  nonsensical 
phrases  of  this  sort,  as  some  writers  have  affected  to  do,  un- 
der the  ridiculous  notion  of  a  familiar  and  easy  manner,  is 
not  to  set  off  the  riches  of  a  language,  but  to  expose  its  rags. 
As  such  idioms,  therefore,  err  alike  against  purity,  simplicity, 
perspicuitj'-,  and  elegance,  they  are  entitled  to  no  quarter  from 
the  critic.  A  few  of  these,  in  the  writings  of  good  authors, 
I  shall  have  occasion  to  point  out  when  I  come  to  speak  ot 
the  solecism  and  the  impropriety. 

So  much  for  the  canons  of  verbal  criticism,  which  properly 
succeed  the  characters  of  good  use,  proposed  in  the  prece- 
ding chapter  for  the  detection  of  the  most  flagrant  errors  in 
the  choice,  the  construction,  and  the  application  of  words. 
The  first  five  of  these  canons  are  intended  to  suggest  the 
principles  by  which  our  choice  ought  to  be  directed  in  cases 
wherein  use  itself  is  wavering ;  and  the  last  four  eo  point  out 
those  farther  improvements  which  the  critical  art,  without 
exceeding  her  legal  powers,  may  assist  in  producing    There 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  191 

fire,  iiuleeil,  wlio  seem  disposed  to  extend  her  authority  much 
farther.  13ut  we  ought  always  to  remember,  that  as  tlio 
priucipal  mode  of  improving  a  language,  which  she  is  cm- 
powered  to  employ,  is  by  condemning  and  exploding,  tiiere 
is  a  considerable  danger  lest  she  carry  her  improvements 
this  way  too  far.  Our  mother-tongue,  by  being  too  much  im- 
paired, maybe  impoverished,  and  so  more  injured  in  copious- 
ness and  nerves  than  all  our  refinements  will  ever  be  able  to 
compensate.  For  this  reason,  there  ought,  in  support  of  ev- 
ery sentence  of  proscription,  to  be  an  evident  plea  from  the 
principles  of  perspicuity,  elegance,  or  harmony. 

If  so,  the  want  of  etymology,  wliatever  be  the  opinion  of 
some  grammarians,  cannot  be  reckoned  a  sufficient  ground 
for  the  suppression  of  a  significant  term  which  hath  come 
into  good  use.  For  my  part,  I  should  think  it  as  unreasona- 
ble to  reject,  on  this  account,  the  assistance  of  an  expressive 
word  which  opportunely  offers  its  service,  when  perhaps  no 
other  could  so  exactly  answer  my  purpose,  as  to  refuse  the 
needful  aid  of  a  proper  person  because  he  could  give  no  ac- 
count of  his  family  or  pedigree.  Though  what  is  called  cant 
is  generally  not  necessarily,  nor  always  without  etymology, 
it  is  not  this  defect,  but  the  baseness  of  the  use  which  fixeth 
on  it  that  disgraceful  appellation.  No  absolute  monarch  hath 
it  more  in  his  power  to  nobilitate  a  person  of  obscure  birth, 
than  it  is  in  the  power  of  good  use  to  ennoble  words  of  low 
or  dubious  extraction  ;  such,  for  instance,  as  have  cither 
arisen,  nobody  knows  how,  like  Jig,  banter,  bigot,  fop,  jlippant, 
among  the  rabble,  or,  Vike  Jiiinsy,  sprung  from  the  cant  of 
manufacturers.  It  is  never  from  an  attention  to  etymology, 
which  would  frequently  mislead  us,  but  from  custom,  the 
only  infallible  guide  in  this  matter,  that  the  meanings  of 
words  in  present  use  must  be  learned.  And,  indeed,  if  the 
want  in  question  were  material,  it  would  equally  affect  all 
thostj  words,  no  inconsiderable  part  of  our  language,  whose 
descent  is  doubtful  or  unknown.  Besides,  in  no  case  can 
the  line  of  derivation  be  traced  backward  to  infinity.  We 
must  always  terminate  in  some  words  of  whose  genealogy 
no  account  can  be  given.* 

*  Dr.  Johnson,  who,  notwilhstanding  liis  acknowledged  learning  pene- 
tration, and  ingenuity,  appears  sometimes,  if  1  may  adopt  his  own  expres- 
sion, "  lost  in  le.xicograpiiy,"  hath  declared  the  name  jmnch,  which  signifies 
a  certain  mixed  liquor  very  well  known,  a  cant  word,  because,  being  to  ap 
pearance  without  etymology,  it  hath  probably  arisen  from  some  silly  con- 
ceit among  the  people.  The  name  sherbrt,  which  signifies  another  known 
mixture,  he  allows  to  be  good,  because  il  is  .Arabic  ;  though,  for  aught  we 
know,  its  origin  among  the  Arabs  hath  been  equally  ignoble  or  uncertain. 
By  this  way  of  reckoning,  if  the  word  punch,  in  the  sense  wherein  we  use 
it,  should  by  any  accident  be  imported  into  Arabia,  and  come  into  use  there, 
it  would  make  good  Arabic,  though  it  be  bu'.  cant  English ;  as  their  sherbet, 
though  in  all  likelihood  but  cant  Arabic,  makes  good  English.  This,  I 
iwn,  appears  to  me  very  capricious. 


192  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

It  ought,  at  the  same  time,  to  be  observed,  that  what  hath 
been  said  on  this  topic  relates  only  to  such  words  as  bear  no 
distinguishable  traces  of  the  baseness  of  their  source ;  the 
case  is  quite  different  in  regard  to  those  terms  which  may  be 
said  to  proclaim  their  vile  and  despicable  origin,  and  that  ei- 
ther by  associating  disagreeable  and  unsuitable  ideas,  as  bel- 
ly timber,  thorowstitch,  dumbfound ;  or  by  betraying  some  frivo- 
lous humour  in  the  formation  of  them,  as  transmogrify,  bam- 
boozle, topsyturvy,  pellmell,  hcltersfcelter,  hurlyburly.  These 
may  all  find  a  place  in  burlesque,  but  ought  never  to  show 
themselves  in  any  serious  performance.  A  person  of  no 
birth,  as  the  phrase  is,  may  be  raised  to  the  rank  of  nobility, 
and,  which  is  more,  may  become  it ;  but  nothing  can  add  dig- 
nity to  that  man,  or  fit  him  for  the  company  of  gentlemen, 
who  bears  indelible  marks  of  the  clown  in  his  look,  gait,  and 
whole  behaviour. 


CHAPTER  III. 

OF    GRAMMATICAL    PURITY. 

It  was  remarked  formerly,*  that  though  the  grammatical 
irt  bears  much  the  same  relation  to  the  rhetorical  which  the 
art  of  the  mason  bears  to  that  of  the  architect,  there  is  one 
very  memorable  difference  between  the  two  cases.  In  archi- 
tecture it  is  not  necessary  that  he  who  designs  should  exe- 
cute his  own  plans  ;  he  may,  therefore,  be  an  excellent  artist 
in  this  way  who  has  neither  skill  nor  practice  in  masonry  ; 
on  the  contrary,  it  is  equally  incumbent  on  the  orator  to  de- 
sign and  to  execute.  He  ought,  therefore,  to  be  master  of 
the  language  which  he  speaks  or  writes,  and  to  be  capable 
of  adding  to  grammatic  purity  those  higher  qualities  of  elocu- 
tion which  will  give  grace  and  energy  to  his  discourse.  I 
propose,  then,  is  the  first  place,  by  way  of  laying  the  found- 
ation,! to  consider  that  purity  which  he  hath  in  common  with 
the  grammarian,  and  then  proceed  to  consider  those  qualities 
of  speech  which  are  peculiarly  oratorical. 

It  was  also  observed  before,J  that  the  art  of  the  logician  is 
miiversal,  the  art  of  the  grammarian  particular.  By  conse- 
quence, my  present  subject  being  language,  it  is  necessary 
to  make  choice  of  some  particular  tongue,  to  which  the  ob- 
servation to  be  made  will  be  adapted,  and  from  which  the  il- 

■*•  Chap.  ii. 

t  "  Solum  quidem  et  quasi  fundamentum  oratoris,  vides  locutionem  emen- 
datam  et  Latinam." — Cic,  De  Clar.  Orat.  The  same  holds  equally  of  any 
language  whicli  the  orator  is  obliged  to  use.  %  Book  i.,  chap.  iv. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  193 

lustrations  to  be  produced  will  be  taken.  Let  English  be 
tliHt  tongue.  This  is  a  preference  to  wliich  it  is  surely  enti- 
tled from  those  who  write  in  it.  Pure  English,  then,  iiiiplies 
three  things  :  Jlrsl,  that  the  words  be  English  ;  second')/,  that 
their  constrnction,  under  which,  in  our  tongue,  arrangement 
also  is  comprehended,  be  in  the  English  idiom  ;  tlnrdly,  that 
the  words  and  phrases  be  employed  to  express  the  precise 
meaning  which  custom  hath  affixed  to  them. 

From  the  definition  now  given,  it  will  be  evident,  on  re- 
flection, that  this  is  one  of  those  qualities  of  which,  though 
the  want  exposes  a  wriier  to  much  censure,  the  possession 
hardly  entitles  him  to  any  praise.  The  truth  is,  it  is  a  kind 
of  negative  quality,  as  the  name  imports,  consisting  more  in 
an  exemption  from  certain  blemishes  than  in  the  acquisition 
of  any  excellence.  It  holds  the  same  place  among  the  vir- 
tues of  elocution  that  justice  holds  among  the  moral  virtues. 
The  more  necessarj'^  each  is,  and  the  more  blamable  the 
transgression  is,  the  less  merit  has  the  observance.  Grace 
and  energy,  on  the  contrary,  are  like  generosity  and  public 
spirit.  To  be  deficient  in  these  virtues  is  not  treated  as  crim- 
inal, but  to  be  eminent  for  the  practice  of  them  is  accounted 
meritorious.  As,  therefore,  in  what  regards  the  laws  of  pu- 
rity, the  violation  is  much  more  conspicuous  than  the  observ- 
ance, I  am  under  the  disagreeable  necessity  of  taking  my  il- 
lustrations on  this  article  solely  from  the  former. 

Purity,  it  was  said,  implies  three  things.  Accordingly,  in 
three  different  ways  it  may  be  injured.  First,  the  words  used 
may  not  be  English.  This  fault  hath  received  from  gram- 
marians the  denomination  of  harharism.  Secondly,  the  con- 
struction of  the  sentence  may  not  be  in  the  English  idiom. 
This  hath  gotten  the  name  of  solecism.  Thirdly,  the  words 
and  phrases  may  not  be  employed  to  express  the  precise 
meaning  which  custom  hath  affixed  to  them.  This  is  termed 
impropriety  * 

SECTION  I. 

THE    BARBARISM. 

The  reproach  of  barbarism  may  be  incurred  by  three  diffei 
cnt  ways  :  by  the  use  of  words  entirely  obsolete,  by  the  use 
of  words  entirely  new,  or  by  new  formations  and  compos! 
lions  from  simple  and  primitive  words  in  present  use. 

Part  I.  By  the  Use  of  Obsolete  Words. 
Obsolete  words,  though  they  once  were  English,  are  no' 
so  now ;  though  thev  were  both  proper  and  expressive  in  tha 

*  Quintilian  hath  suggested  this  distribution.— Instit.,  lib.  i.,  cap.  v. 
"Deprehendal  qua  barbara,  qua3  impiopria,  qus  contra  legem  loqucndl 
composita." 


194  THE   PHILOSOPHT   OF   RHETORIC. 

days  of  our  forefathers,  are  become  as  strange  to  our  ears  as 
many  parts  of  their  garb  would  be  to  our  eyes ;  and  if  so, 
such  words  have  no  more  title  than  foreign  words  to  be  in- 
troduced at  present ;  for  though  they  are  not  so  totally  un- 
known as  to  occasion  obscurity,  a  fault  which  I  shall  con- 
sider afterward,  their  appearance  is  so  unusual,  and  their 
form  is  so  antiquated,  that,  if  not  perfectly  ridiculous,  they 
at  least  suggest  the  notion  of  stiffness  and  affectation.  We 
ought,  therefore,  not  only  to  avoid  words  that  are  no  longer 
understood  by  any  but  critics  and  antiquaries,  such  as  hight, 
cleped,  uneath,  erst,  whilom ;  we  must  also,  when  writing  in 
prose  and  on  serious  subjects,  renounce  the  aid  of  those 
terms  which,  though  not  unintelligible,  all  writers  of  any 
name  have  now  ceased  to  use.  Such  are  behest,  fantasy,  trib- 
ulation, erewhile,  whenas,  peradventure,  selfsame,  anon.  All 
these  offend  more  or  less  against  the  third  criterion  of  good 
use  formerly  given,*  that  it  be  such  as  obtains  at  present. 

Some  indulgence,  however,  on  this,  as  well  as  on  several 
other  articles,  as  was  hinted  already,  must  be  given  to  poets 
on  many  accounts,  and  particularly  on  account  of  the  pecu- 
liar inconveniences  to  which  the  laws  of  versification  subject 
them.  Besides,  in  treating  some  topics,  passages  of  ancient 
story  for  example,  there  may  be  found  sometimes  a  suitable- 
ness in  the  introduction  of  old  words.  In  certain  kinds  of 
style,  when  used  sparingly  and  with  judgment,  they  serve  to 
add  the  venerable  air  of  antiquity  to  the  narrative.  In  bur- 
lesque,  also,  they  often  produce  a  good  effect.  But  it  is  ad- 
mitted on  all  sides,  that  this  species  of  writing  is  not  strictly 
subjected  to  the  laws  of  purity. 

Part  II.  By  the  Use  of  New  Words. 

Another  tribe  of  barbarisms  much  more  numerous  is  con- 
stituted by  new  words.  Here,  indeed,  the  hazard  is  more 
imminent,  as  the  tendency  to  this  extreme  is  more  prevalent. 
Nay,  our  language  is  in  greater  danger  of  being  overwhelm- 
ed by  an  inundation  of  foreign  words  than  any  other  species 
of  destruction.  There  is,  doubtless,  some  excuse  for  bor- 
rovv'ing  the  assistance  of  neighbours,  when  their  assistance  is 
really  wanted — that  is,  when  we  cannot  do  our  business  with- 
out it ;  but  there  is  certainly  a  meanness  in  choosing  to  be 
indebted  to  others  for  what  we  can  easily  be  supplied  with 
out  of  our  own  stock.  When  words  are  introduced  by  any 
writer  from  a  sort  of  necessity,  in  order  to  avoid  tedious  and 
languid  circumlocutions,  there  is  reason  to  believe  they  will 
soon  be  adopted  by  others  convinced  of  the  necessity,  and 
will  at  length  be  naturalized  by  the  pubhc.  But  it  is  to  be 
wished  that  the  public  would  ever  reject  those  which  are  ob- 

*  Book  ii.,  chap,  i.,  sect.  iiL 


THE   PHILOSOPHT  OP   RHETORIC.  195 

truded  on  it  merely  through  a  licentious  affectation  of  nov- 
elty. And  of  this  kind  certainly  are  most  of  the  words  and 
phrases  which  have,  in  this  century,  been  imported  from 
France.  Are  not  pleasure,  opinionative,  and  salli/,  ks  expres- 
sive as  volupty,  opiniatre,  and  sortie  ?  Wherein  is  the  expres- 
sion last  resort  inferior  to  dernier  resort ;  liberal  arts  to  beaux 
arts ;  and  polite  literature  to  belles  letires  i  Yet  some  writers 
have  arrived  at  such  a  pitch  of  futihty  as  to  imagine  that  if 
they  can  but  make  a  few  trifling  changes,  like  aimable  for 
amiable,  politesse  for  politeness,  delicatesse  for  delicacy,  and 
hauteur  for  haughtiness,  they  have  found  so  many  gems  which 
are  capable  of  adding  a  wonderful  lustre  to  their  works. 
"With  such,  indeed,  it  is  in  vain  to  argue  ;  but  to  others,  who 
are  not  quite  so  unreasonable,  I  beg  leave  to  suggest  the  fol- 
lowing remarks. 

First,  it  ought  to  be  remembered  that  the  rules  of  pronun 
elation  and  orthography  in  French  are  so  different  from  those 
which  obtain  in  English,  that  the  far  greater  part  of  the 
French  words  lately  introduced  constitute  so  many  anoma- 
lies with  us,  which,  by  loading  the  grammatical  rules  with 
exceptions,  greatly  corrupt  the  simplicity  and  regularity  of 
our  tongue. 

Nor  is  this  the  only  way  in  which  they  corrupt  its  sim- 
plicity ;  let  it  be  observed  farther,  that  one  of  the  principal 
beauties  of  any  language,  and  the  most  essential  to  sim- 
plicity, results  from  this :  that  a  few  plain  and  primitive 
words,  called  roots,  have,  by  an  analogy  which  hath  insen- 
sibly established  itself,  given  rise  to  an  infinite  number  of 
derivative  and  compound  words,  between  which  and  the 
primitive,  and  between  the  former  and  their  conjugates,  there 
is  a  resemblance  in  sense,  corresponding  to  that  which  there 
is  in  sound.  Hence  it  will  happen  that  a  word  may  be  very 
emphatical  in  the  language  to  which  it  owes  its  birth,  arising 
from  the  light  that  is  reflected  on  it  by  the  other  words  of  the 
same  etymology,  which,  when  it  is  transplanted  into  another 
language,  loses  its  emphasis  entirely.  The  French  word 
eclaircissement,  for  instance,  is  regularly  deduced  thus  :  Eclair- 
cissement,  eclaircisse,  eclaircir,  eclair,  clair,  which  is  the  ety- 
mon, whence  are  also  descended  clairement,  clarte,  clarifier, 
clarification,  eclairer.  The  like  may  be  observed  in  regard  to 
connoisseur,  reconnoitre,  argremens,  and  a  thousand  others ; 
whereas  such  words  with  us  look  rather  like  strays  than  like 
any  part  of  our  own  property.  They  are  very  mucli  in  the 
condition  of  exiles,  who,  having  been  driven  from  their  fam- 
ilies, relations,  and  friends,  are  compelled  to  take  refuge  in 
a  country  where  there  is  not  a  single  person  with  whom  they 
can  claim  a  connexion,  either  by  blood  or  by  alliance. 

But  the  patrons  of  this  practice  will  probably  plead  that, 
as  the  French  is  the  finer  language,  ours  must  certainly  be 


196  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

improved  by  the  mixture.  Into  tlie  truth  of  tlie  hypothesis 
from  which  ihcy  urgue,  I  shall  not  now  inquire.  It  suffiietli 
lor  my  present  purpose  to  observe,  that  the  consequence  is 
not  lotricHJ.  ihou^rh  the  plea  were  ju-t.  A  liquor  prorfnced 
by  the  niixiiire  of  t.wo  liquors  of  different  qunliiies  will  often 
prove  \v(n'se  than  either.  The  Greek  is,  doubtless,  vi  langu;!ge 
mnch  superior  in  riciuiess,  harmony,  and  variety  to  the 
Latin  ;  yet,  by  an  afTection  in  the  Romans  of  Greek  words 
and  idioms  (like  the  oassion  of  the  Knglish  for  whatever  is 
imported  from  France),  as  much,  perh^ips,  as  by  anything, 
the  Latin  was  not  only  vitiated,  but  lost  almost  entirely,  in  a 
few  centuries,  that  beauty  and  majesty  which  we  discover  in 
the  writings  of  the  Augustan  age.  On  the  contrary,  nothing 
contributed  more  to  the  preservation  of  the  Greek  tongue  in 
its  native  purity  for  such  an  amazing  number  of  centuries, 
unexampled  in  the  history  of  any  otiier  language,  than  the 
contempt  they  had  of  this  practice.  It  was  in  consequence 
of  this  contempt  tliat  they  were  the  first  who  branded  a  for- 
eign term  in  any  of  their  writers  with  the  odious  name  of 
barharisin. 

But  there  are  two  considerations  which  ought  especially 
to  weigh  with  authors,  and  liisider  tiiem  from  wantonly  ad- 
miltiiig  such  extraneous  productions  into  their  performances. 
Or,e  is,  if  these  foreigners  be  allowed  t;)  settle  among  ns, 
they  will  infallibly  supplant  the  old  inhabitants  Whatever 
ground  is  given  to  the  one,  is  so  much  taken  from  the  other. 
Is  it,  then,  prudent  in  a  writer  to  foment  a  humour  of  inno- 
vation which  lends  to  make  the  language  of  his  country  stiil 
more  changeable,  and,  consequer.tly,  to  render  t!ie  style  of 
his  own  writings  the  sooner  obsolete  1  Nor  let  it  be  imagin- 
ed that  this  is  not  a  necessary  conseqiu^nce.  Nothing  can 
be  juster  than  Johnson's  manner  of  arguing  on  this  subject, 
in  regard  to  what  Swift  a  little  chimerically  proposeth,  that, 
though  new  words  be  introduced,  none  should  be  permitted 
to  becoiue  obsolete.*  For  what  makes  a  word  obsolete  but  a 
general,  though  tacit,  agreeiTient  to  forbear  it  \  and  uhat  so 
readily  produces  this  agreement  as  another  term  which  hath 
gotten  a  vogue  and  currency,  and  is  always  at  hand  to  supply 
its  place  ]  And  if  thus,  for  some  titue,  a  word  is  overlooked 
or  neglected,  how  shall  it  be  recalled  when  it  halh  once,  by 
disuse,  become  unfainiliar,  and,  by  unfaiuiliarity,  nnpleasing  ? 

The  other  consideration  is,  that  if  he  should  not  be  follow- 
ed in  the  use  of  those  foreign  words  which  he  hath  endeav- 
oured to  usher  into  the  language,  il' they  meet  not  with  a  fa- 
vourable reception  from  the  public,  they  will  ever  appear  as 
.spots  in  his  work.  iSucli  is  the  appearance  which  the  terms 
opine,  ignore,  fraicheur,  adroitness,  opiniatrij,  and  opinialreiy, 
have  at  present  in  the  writings  of  some  ingenious  men 
*  Preface  to  the  Dictionary. 


Tnn  PHILOSOPHY  or  rhetoric.  197 

Whetner,  therefore,  he  be  or  be  not  imitated,  he  will  himself 
prove  ;i  loser  at  last.  1  injujht  jiJd  to  tliese,  that  ;is  Ixirr  i\v- 
iug  naturally  exposeth  to  tlie  s-aspicio:)  of  poverty,  this  pov 
erty  will  much  more  readily,  and  more  justly  too,  be  imputed 
to  the  writer  than  to  the  language. 

Inventors  in  the  arts  and  discoverers  in  science  have  an 
indisputable  title  to  give  names  to  their  own  inventions  and 
discoveries.  When  foreign  inventions  and  discoveries  are 
imported  into  this  island,  it  is  both  natural  and  reasonable 
that  the  name  should  accompany  the  thing.  Na}',  in  regard 
even  to  evils  of  foreign  growth,  1  should  not  object  to  the 
observance  of  the  same  rule.  Were  any  one  to  insist  that 
we  have  not  in  our  language  words  precisely  corresponding 
to  the  Freiicli  <^  a  limn  lias,  phehrts,  vcn'ixjge,  gasctma'fe,  rhodo- 
moiitade,  I  should  not  contend  with  him  about  it ;  nor  should 
I,  perhaps,  dislike  that  the  very  name  served  to  show  that 
these  plants  are  natives  of  a  ranker  soil,  and  did  not  originally 
belong  to  us.  But  if  the  introduction  of  exotic  words  were 
never  admitted  except  in  such  cases,  or  in  order  to  supply 
an  evident  want  among  ourselves,  we  should  not  at  present 
have  one  such  term  where  we  have  fifty.  The  advice  of  the 
poet  with  regard  to  both  the  before-mentioned  sorts  of  bar- 
barism is  extremely  good. 

"In  words,  as  fashions,  the  sams  rule  will  hold- 
Alike  laiitasiic  if  too  new  or  old  : 
Be  nol  the  first  by  whom  the  new  are  tried, 
Nor  yet  the  last  to  lay  the  old  aside."* 

X'A    Part  III.  By  the  Use  of  Good  Words  neiv-modeUed. 

The  third  species  of  barbarism  is  that  produced  by  new 
formations  and  compositions  from  primitives  in  present  use. 
I  acknowledge,  that  when  the  English  analogy  is  observed 
in  the  derivation  or  composition,  and  when  the  new-coined 
word  is  wanted  in  the  language,  greater  liberty  ought  to  be 
given  on  this  article  than  on  the  former.  The  reason  of  the 
difference  will  appear  from  what  hath  been  said  already. 
But  still,  this  is  a  liberty  which  needs  an  excuse  from  neces- 
sity, and  is  in  no  case  paidonalile,  unless  the  words  be  at 
least  not  disagreeable  to  the  ear,  and  be  so  analogically  form- 
ed that  a  reader,  without  tiie  help  of  the  context,  may  ea- 
sily discover  the  meaning. f 

Now.  if  the  plea  of  necessity  be  requisite,  whn*  nn^vtor  is 
due  to  such  frivolous  innovations  as  these:   <Htu/;i„(./,,.c/t/,| 

♦  Pope's  Essays  on  Criticism. 

t  There  are  some  words  of  recent  introduction  which  come  so  much 
under  this  liescription,  that  it  might  be  accounted  too  fastidious  in  ihc  critic 
entirely  to  reject  them.  Such  are  conlinfntal,  senlinunlnl.  nngiunlity.  crimi- 
nality, capahdiiy,  to  origiii^e,  to  figure,  to  adduce,  and,  perliaps,  a  few  others. 

X  BoUngbroke. 

R  2 


198  THE  niiLosoriiv  of  rhetoric. 

portic*  7nartyrizcd*  eucharisty*  analyze*  conncxiiy*  Sloicifin* 
Platonician*  Pcripatetician,*  Pythagorician,* Jiclious,]  majesta- 
tic,X  acceptioii,^  which  were  intended  solely  to  express  what 
had  always  been  at  least  as  well  expressed  by  encumherance, 
portico,  martyred,  eucharist,  analysis,  connexion,  Stoic,  Platonist, 
Peripatetic,  Pythagorean,  fictitious,  majestic,  acceptation.  And 
if  any  regard  is  due  to  the  ear,  what  shall  we  say  of — 1  can- 
not call  it  the  composition,  but — the  collision  of  words  which 
are  naturally  the  most  unfit  for  coalescing,  like  saintauthors, 
saintprotectrices,  architectcapacity,  commentatorcapacity ,  author- 
character,  and  many  others  forged  in  the  same  taste,  to  be 
found  in  the  pages  of  a  late  right-honourable  author  ?||  And, 
lastly,  if  the  analogy  of  the  language  must  be  preserved  in 
composition,  to  what  kind  of  reception  are  the  following  en- 
titled, all  fabricated  in  the  same  shop  :  selfend,  selfpassion,  self' 
affections,  selfpractice,  homedialect,  hellysense,  mirrourwriting  ? 

It  may,  indeed,  be  urged,  that  the  pronoun  self  is  used  in 
composition  with  such  latitude,  that  one  can  scarcely  err  in 
forming  new  words  with  its  assistance.  But  this  is  a  mis- 
take. New  words  may  be  formed  by  it,  but  they  must  be 
formed  analogically.  And  the  analogy  of  these  formations 
may  be  understood  from  observing  that,  when  analyzed  thus, 
they  ought  regularly  to  exhibit  the  same  meaning.  Make 
one''s  self,  himself,  herself,  itself,  or  themselves,  as  the  case  re- 
quires, follow  the  last  word  in  the  compound,  with  the  prep- 
osition intervening,  with  which  the  word,  whether  noun  or 
participle,  is  usually  construed.  If  the  word  be  a  substantive, 
the  preposition  is  commonly  of;  if  the  passive  participle,  by ; 
and  if  the  active  participle,  no  preposition  is  requisite.  Thus 
self-love  is  the  love  of  one's  self  In  the  same  way  are  resolv- 
ed self-hate,  self-murder,  self-preservation.  When  we  say  of  a 
man  that  he  is  self  condemned,  we  mean  that  he  is  condemned 
by  himself.     A  self- consuming  fire  is  a  fire  consuming  itself. 

Now  to  apply  this  observation,  what  is  the  meaning  of  the 
end  of  OHe''s  seif,  the  passion  of  one''s  self,  the  affections  of  one's 
self,  and  the  practice  of  one'' s  selfl  And  if  some  meaning  may 
be  affixed  to  any  of  these  expressions,  it  is  easy  to  perceive 
that  it  is  not  the  meaning  of  the  author.  Yet  I  can  remem- 
ber but  two  compounds  that  have  obtained  in  English  which 
are  not  formed  according  to  the  analogy  above  explained. 
The  one  is  self-willed,  signifying  ^erf^er^e,  and  now  little  used  ; 
the  other  is  self  existence,  a  favourite  word  of  some  metaphy- 
sicians, which,  if  it  signify  anything  more  than  what  is  prop- 
erly and  clearly  expressed  by  independency  and  eternity,  sig- 
nifies I  know  not  v/hat.  In  new  formations,  however,  the 
rule  ought  to  be  followed,  and  not  the  exceptions.  But  what 
shall  be  said  of  such  monsters  as  selfpractice,  bellysense,  and 

*  Bolingbroke.  +  Prior.  ^  Spectator,  No.  580. 

<5i  Hammond.  ll  Shaftesbury. 


THE    rniLOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  109 

mtrroiinvriting  ?  These,  indcccl,  might  have  been  regarded  as 
flowers  of  rhetoric  in  the  days  of  Cromwell,  when  a  jaroron 
of  this  sort  was  much  in  vogue,  but  are  extremely  unsuitable 
to  the  chaster  language  of  the  present  age. 

Again :  under  tliis  class  may  be  ranked  another  modern 
refinement — I  mean  the  alterations  that  have  been  made  by 
some  late  writers  on  proper  names  and  some  other  words  of 
foreign  extraction,  and  on  their  derivatives,  on  pretence  of 
bringmg  them  nearer,  both  in  pronunciation  and  in  spelling, 
to  the  original  names,  as  they  appear  in  the  language  from 
which  those  words  were  taken.  Jn  order  to  answer  this  im- 
portant purpose,  several  terms  whicli  have  maintained  tiieir 
place  in  our  tongue  for  many  centuries,  and  which  are  known 
to  everybody,  must  be  expelled,  that  room  may  be  made  for 
a  set  of  uncouth  and  barbarous  sounds  with  which  our  ears 
are  unacquainted,  and  to  some  of  which  it  is  impossible  for 
us  to  adapt  our  organs,  accustomed  only  to  EngUsh,  as  right- 
ly to  articulate  them. 

It  has  been  the  invariable  custom  of  all  nations,  as  far  as  I 
know — it  was  particularly  the  custom  of  the  Grecians  and 
the  Romans,  when  they  introduced  a  foreign  name  into  their 
language,  to  make  such  alterations  on  it  as  would  facilitate 
the  pronunciation  to  their  own  people,  and  render  it  more 
analogous  to  the  other  words  of  their  tongue.  There  is  an 
evident  convenience  in  this  practice ;  but  where  the  harm  of 
it  is,  I  am  not  able  to  discover.  No  more  can  I  divine  what 
good  reason  can  be  alleged  for  proscribing  the  name  Zoroas- 
ter, till  of  late  universally  adopted  by  English  authors  who 
had  occasion  to  mention  that  Eastern  sage,  and  the  same, 
except  in  termination,  that  is  used  in  Greek  and  Latin  clas- 
sics. Is  Zerdusht,  which  those  people  would  substitute  in  its 
place,  a  more  musical  word  ?  or  is  it  of  any  consequence  to 
us  that  it  is  nearer  the  Persian  original?  Will  this  sound 
give  us  a  deeper  insight  than  the  other  into  the  character,  the 
philosophy,  and  the  history  of  the  man  1  On  the  same  prin- 
ciples, we  are  commanded  by  these  refiners  to  banish  Confu- 
cius for  the  sake  of  Con-fut-cee,  and  never  again,  on  pain  of 
the  charge  of  gross  ignorance,  to  mention  Mahomet,  Mahomet- 
an, Mahometism,  since  Mohammed,  Mohammedan,  Mohammed- 
ism,  are  ready  to  supply  their  room.  Mussulman  must  give 
place  to  Moslem,  Hegira  to  Hejra,  and  Alkoran  to  Koran.  The 
dervis,  too,  is  turned  to  dirvesh,  and  the  bashaw  is  transformed 
into  a  pacha 

But  why  do  our  modern  reformers  stop  here  1  Ought  not 
this  reformation,  if  good  for  anything,  to  be  rendered  more 
extensively  useful  ■?  How  much  more  edifying  would  Holy 
Writ  prove  to  readers  of  every  capacity,  if,  instead  of  those 
vulgar  corruptions,  Jacob,  and  Judah,  and  Moses,  and  Elijah, 
we  had  the  satisfaction  to  find  in  our  Bibles,  as  some  assure 


200  IflE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

US  that  the  words  ought  to  be  pronounced,  Yagnhakoh,  and 
Yehuda,  and  Mo.tchech,  and  Eliyaliul  Nay,  since  it  seems  to 
be  agreed  among  our  Oriental  scholars  that  the  Hebrew ycxi 
sounds  like  tlie  English  y  before  a  vowel,  and  that  their  vau 
is  the  same  with  the  German  iv,  the  word  Jehovah  ought  also 
to  be  exploded,  that  we  may  henceforth  speak  of  the  Deity 
more  reverently  and  intelligibly  by  the  only  authentic  name 
Yehowah.  A  reform  of  this  kind  was,  indeed,  for  the  benefit 
of  tlie  learned,  attempted  abroad  more  than  two  centuries  ago, 
by  a  kindred  genius  of  those  modern  English  critics,  one  Pag- 
n'inus,  a  Dominican  friar.  In  a  translation  which  this  niaii 
made  of  the  Scriptures,  into  a  ""^'"f  'if  monkish  gibberish  that 
he  called  Latin,  he  hath,  in  order  to  satisfy  the  world  of  the 
vast  importance  and  utility  of  his  work,  instead  of  Ece,  writ- 
ten Chauva,  and  for  Isaiah,  Jerer.-Aah,  Ezekiel,  given  us  Jesaki- 
ahu,  Irmetahu,  Jechczechel.  Eat  1  know  not  how  it  hath  hap- 
pened that  in  this  he  hath  had  few  imitators  among  men  of 
letters.  Probably,  upon  tiie  trial,  people  have  discovered  that 
they  were  just  as  much  edified  by  tiie  old  names  as  by  the 
new. 

Again  :  why  this  reformation  should  be  confined  almost  en- 
tirely to  proper  names,  for  my  part  I  can  discover  no  good 
reason.  Appellatives  are  doubtless  entitled  to  a  share.  Crit- 
ics of  this  stamp  ought,  for  example,  boldly  to  resolve,  in 
spite  of  inveterate  abuses  and  plebeian  prejudices,  never,  while 
they  breathe,  either  to  write  or  to  pronounce  the  words  pope, 
popery,  and  popedom,  but  instead  of  them,  pape,  papery,  and 
papcdom;  since,  whether  we  derive  these  words  immediately 
from  the  French,*  the  Latin,f  or  the  Greek, |  still  it  appears 
that  the  o  is  but  a  base  usurper  of  a  place  which  rightfully  be- 
longs to  the  a.  The  reason  assigned  for  saying  Koran,  and 
not  Alcoran,  is  truly  curious.  Al,  say  they,  is  the  Arabic  ar- 
ticle, and  signifies  the ;  consequently,  if  we  should  say  the  Al- 
coran, we  should  fall  into  a  gross  perissology.  It  is  jnst  as  if 
we  said  the  the  book.  A  plain,  illiterate  man  would  think  it 
sufiicient  to  reply.  What  though  a/  signifies  the  in  Arabic,  it 
hath  no  signification  in  English,  and  is  only  here  the  first 
syllable  of  a  n;une  which  use  hath  appropriated,  no  m.itier 
how,  to  a  particular  book.  But  if  ye  who  are  such  deep 
scholars,  and  wonderful  improvers  of  your  mother-tongue, 
are  determined  to  exclude  this  harmless  syllaWe  from  Alco- 
ran, act  al  least  consistently,  and  dismiss  it  also  from  alchy- 
my,  alcove,  alembic,  algebra,  almanac,  and  all  ihe  other  \voids 
in  the  language  that  are  derived  in  the  same  way  and  from 
the  same  source.  Indeed,  it  is  not  easy  to  say  where  ye  will 
stop  ;  for  if  ye  attend  to  it,  ye  will  fi.nd  many  words  of  L.ilin 
or  French  origin  which  stand  equally  in  need  of  reformation.^ 

*  Pape.  t  Papa.  %   mi^rnaf. 

^  Suppose  one  of  these  Aristarchs  advancing  in  such  ingeiuous  reiiae- 


THF-    PIIILOSOniY    OF    KtlKTOKIC.  201 

It  is  necessary  to  add,  tliat  if  the  public  g\vc  way  to  a  liii- 
inour  of  liiis  kind,  tlierc  will  be  no  end  of  innovating.  When 
some  critics  (irst  ihouglii  of  reforming  the  word  haxhaw,  one 
would  have  it  Ixissa.  another  pacha,  und  a  third  pas/ia ;  and 
how  many  more  shapes  it  may  yet  be  transformed  into,  it  is 
impossible  to  sa}'.  A  late  historiographer  liaMi  adopted  just  the 
half  of  Sale's  reformation  of  the  name  Mahomet.  He  re- 
stores the  vowels  to  the  places  which  they  formerly  held,  but 
admits  his  alteration  of  the  consonants,  never  writing  either 
Mahomet  or  Mahammed,  but  Mahonimed.  In  regard  to  such 
foreign  names  of  pers(jns,  officers,  eras,  and  rites,  it  would  be 
obliging,  in  writers  of  this  stamp,  to  aiuiex  to  their  works  a 
glossary,  for  the  sake  of  the  unlearned,  who  cannot  divme 
whether  their  newfangled  terms  bekmg  to  things  formerly  un- 
known, or  are  no  more  than  the  old  names  of  tfiings  familiar 
to  them  newly  vamped  and  dressed.  Surely,  if  anything  de- 
serves to  be  branded  with  the  name  of  pedantry,  ii  is  an  os- 
tentation of  erudition,  to  the  reproach  of  learning,  by  aflfect- 
ing  singularuy  in  tritles. 

1  shall  just  mention  another  set  of  barbarisms  which  also 
comes  under  this  class,  and  arises  from  the  abbreviation  of 
polysyllables,  by  lopping  off  all  the  syllables  except  the  first, 
or  the  first  and  second.  Instances  of  this  are  fii/p  f(;r  hi/pochon- 
driac,  rep  for  reputation,  ull  for  idtimaie,  penult  for  pcnuUlmale, 
incog  for  incogniin.,  hyper  for  ht/pcrcritic,  extra  for  exiraordina- 
ry.  Happily,  all  these  affected  terms  have  been  denied  the 
public  suffrage.  I  scarcely  know  an}'  such  that  have  estab- 
lished themselves,  except  mob  for  mobile;*  and  this  it  hath 

ments,  afid  thus  criticising  on  the  word  aversion :  "  This  substantive  is  by 
divers  authors  diversely  construed.  Some  say  aversion  to  a  change,  others 
aversion  from  a  change ;  both,  I  affirm,  from  a  blind  attachment  to  vernaca- 
Har  idioms,  have  alike  deviated  into  the  most  ugly  and  delormed  faults. 
This  judgment,  how  severe  soever,  1  am  able  to  support  by  an  irrefragable 
argument.  Aversioyi,  according  to  Us  etymology,  denotes  iHrn;«§-/ro7n.  The 
first  syllable,  o,  is,  in  the  original  language,  a  preposition  signilying//-»m.  It 
would,  therefore,  be  absurd  to  conjoin  in  the  same  plirase  with  it  the  prepo- 
sition to,  which  hath  a  contrary  signification;  and  to  use/mrd  after  aversion 
would  render  the  e.ipression  hideously  pleonastic.  In  defiance,  therefore, 
of  a  habitude,  which,  however  ancient  and  universal,  is  the  offspring  of  ig- 
norance, we  must,  if  we  would  speak  correctly,  either  say  aversion  a  change, 
the  first  syllable  a  having  the  force  of  the  preposition,  or,  cutting  olT  this 
preposition,  we  must  say  t)<r.»(o/t/rom  a  c/ia?'^>'."  If  any  should  think  tins 
representation  e.xaggerated,  let  him  compare  the  reasoning  with  that  w  hich 
hath  been  seriously  used  for  mutilating  the  word  Alcoran,  and  he  will  rind 
It  in  all  respects  the  same.  It  is,  I  acknowledge,  of  no  consequence  wheth 
er  we  say  Alcoran,  or  Koran,  but  it  is  of  consequence  that  such  a  silly  ar- 
gument shall  not  be  held  a  sufHcient  ground  for  innov.ition. 

■»  As  1  am  disposed  to  think  that,  in  matters  of  this  kind,  the  puVilic  is 
rarely  in  the  wrong,  it  would  not  bedilficult  to  assign  a  [)lausible  reason  for 
this  preference  First,  the  word  mobile,  from  which  it  is  contracted,  can 
scarcely  l)e  called  .^.nglish,  and,  I  suspect,  never  had  the  sanction  of  the 
public  voice.  Secondly,  there  is  not  another  word  in  the  language  that  e.v- 
presselh  precisely  the  same  idea,  a  tumuUuous  and  seiUUout  rout :  the  worils 


202  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    UHETORIC. 

affected  at  last,  notwithstanding  the  unrelenting  zeal  with 
which  it  was  persecuted  by  Dr.  Swift  wherever  he  met  with 
it.  But  as  the  word  in  question  hath  gotten  use,  the  supreme 
arbitress  of  language,  on  its  side,  there  would  be  as  much  ob- 
stinacy ill  rejecting  it  at  present,  as  there  was  perhaps  folly 
at  first  in  ushering  it  upon  the  public  stage. 

As  to  the  humour  of  abbreviating,  we  need  say  very  little, 
as  it  seems  hardly  now  to  subsist  among  us.  It  only  arose 
in  this  island  about  the  end  of  the  last  century  ;  and  when,  in 
the  beginning  of  the  present,  it  assumed  to  figure  in  conver- 
sation, and  even  sometimes  to  appear  in  print,  it  was  so  warm- 
ly attacked  by  Addison  and  Swift,  and  other  writers  of  emi- 
nence, that  since  then  it  hath  been  in  general  disgrace,  hard- 
ly daring  to  appear  in  good  company,  and  never  showing  it- 
self in  books  "of  any  name. 

The  two  classes  of  barbarisms  last  mentioned,  compre- 
hending new  words  and  new  formations  from  words  still  cur- 
rent, offend  against  use,  considered  both  as  reputable  and  as 
national.  There  are  many  other  sorts  of  transgression  which 
might  be  enumerated  here,  such  as  vulgarisms,  provincial 
idioms,  and  the  cant  of  particular  professions.  But  these  are 
more  commonly  ranked  among  the  offences  against  elegance 
than  among  the  violations  of  grammatical  purity,  and  will 
therefore  be  considered  afterward. 

SECTION  II. 

THE    SOLECISM. 

I  NOW  enter  on  the  consideration  of  the  second  way  by 
which  the  purity  of  the  style  is  injured,  the  solecism.  This 
s  accounted  by  grammarians  a  much  greater  fault  than  the 
former,  as  it  displays  a  greater  ignorance  of  the  fundamental 
rules  of  the  language.  The  sole  aim  of  grammar  is  to  con- 
vey the  knowledge  of  the  language ;  consequently,  the  de- 
gi'ce  of  grammatical  demerit  in  every  blunder  can  only  be 
ascertained  by  the  degree  of  deficiency  in  this  knowledge 
which  it  betrays.  But  the  aim  of  eloquence  is  quite  another 
thing.  The  speaker  or  the  writer  doth  not  purpose  to  dis- 
play his  knowledge  in  the  language,  but  only  to  employ  the 
language  wliich  he  speaks  or  writes,  in  order  to  the  attain- 
ment of  some  farther  end.  This  knowledge  he  useth  solely 
as  the  instrument  or  means  by  which  he  intends  to  instruct, 
to  please,  to  move,  or  to  persuade.  The  degree  of  demerit, 
therefore,  which,  by  the  orator's  account,  is  to  be  found  in 

mohility,  adopted  by  some  wrilers,  is  a  gross  misapplication  of  the  philo- 
sophical term,  which  means  only  suscepiibility  nf  vwiion  ;  lastly,  the  word 
mith  is  filter  than  either  of  those  for  givmg  rise,  according  to  the  analogy  of 
our  tongue,  to  such  convenient  deriv.iiives  ;i  to  mob,  mobbnl,  niobbUh, 
niobber. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  203 

every  blunder,  must  be  ascertained  by  a  very  different  meas- 
ure. Such  offence  is  more  or  less  heinous,  precisely  in  pro- 
portion as  it  proves  a  greater  or  smaller  obstruction  to  the 
speaker's  or  writer's  aim.  Hence  it  happens,  that  when  sol- 
ecisms are  not  very  glaring,  when  they  do  not  darken  the 
sense,  or  suggest  some  ridiculous  idea,  the  rhetorician  re- 
gards them  as  much  more  excusable  than  liarbarisms.  The 
reason  is,  the  former  is  accounted  solely  the  effect  of  negli- 
gence, the  latter  of  affectation.  Negligence  in  expression, 
often  the  consequence  of  a  noble  ardour  in  regard  to  the  sen- 
timents, is  at  tlie  worst  a  venial  trespass,  sometimes  it  is 
even  not  without  energy ;  affectation  is  always  a  deadly  sin 
against  the  laws  of  rhetoric. 

It  ought  also  to  be  observed,  that  in  the  article  of  solecisms 
much  greater  indulgence  is  given  to  the  speaker  than  to  the 
writer ;  and  to  the  writer  who  proposeth  to  persuade  or  move, 
greater  allowances  are  made  than  to  him  who  proposeth  bare- 
ly to  instruct  or  please.  The  more  vehemence  is  required  by 
the  nature  of  the  subject,  the  less  correctness  is  exactfed  in 
the  manner  of  treaung  it.  Nay,  a  remarkable  deficiency  in  this 
respect  is  not  near  so  prejudicial  to  the  scope  of  the  orator 
as  a  scrupulous  accuracy,  which  bears  in  it  the  symptoms  of 
study  and  art.  jEschines  is  said  to  have  remarked,  that  the 
orations  of  his  rival  and  antagonist  Demosthenes  smelled  of 
the  lamp  ;  thereby  intimating  that  their  style  and  composi- 
tion were  too  elaborate.  If  the  remark  is  just,  it  contains 
the  greatest  censure  that  ever  was  passed  on  that  eminent 
orator.  But  as  the  intermediate  degrees  between  the  two  ex- 
tremes are  innumerable,  both  doubtless  ought  to  be  avoided. 

Grammatical  inaccuracies  ought  to  be  avoided  by  a  writer 
for  two  reasons.  One  is,  that  a  reader  will  much  sooner  dis- 
cover them  than  a  hearer,  however  attentive  he  be.  The 
other  is,  as  writing  implies  more  leisure  and  greater  coolness 
than  is  implied  in  speaking,  defects  of  this  kind,  when  dis- 
covered in  the  former,  will  be  less  excused  than  they  would 
be  in  the  latter. 

To  enumerate  all  the  kinds  of  solecism  into  which  it  is 
possible  to  fall  would  be  both  a  useless  and  an  endless  task. 
The  transgression  of  any  of  the  syntactic  rules  is  a  sole- 
cism ;  and  almost  every  rule  may  be  transgressed  in  various 
ways.  But  as  novices  only  are  capable  of  falling  into  the 
most  flagrant  solecisms,  such,  I  mean,  as  betray  ignoi'ance 
in  the  rudiments  of  the  tongue,  I  shall  leave  it  to  grammari- 
ans to  exemplify  and  class  the  various  blunders  of  this  sort 
which  may  be  committed  by  the  learner.  All  I  propose  to 
do  at  present  is  to  take  notice  of  a  few  less  observable,  which 
writers  of  great  name,  and  even  of  critical  skill  in  the  lan- 
guage, have  slidden  into  through  inattention;   and  which. 


204  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

tlmugh  of  the  nature  of  solecism,  ought,  perhaps,  to  be  dis- 
tinguished by  tho  softer  name  inaccuracy. * 

The  first  of  this  kind  I  shall  observe  is  a  mistake  of  the 
pUir;>l  lUHiiber  for  the  singular:  "The  zeal  of  the  seraphim 
breaks  forth  iu  a  becoming  warmth  of  sentiments  and  ex- 
pressions, as  the  character  wliich  is  given  us  of  him  denotes 
that  generous  scorn  and  intrepidity  which  attends  heroic  vir- 
tue."f  Cherub  and  seraph  are  two  noui>3  in  the  singular 
number,  transplanted  into  our  language  directly  from  the 
Hebrew.  In  the  plural  we  are  authorized  both  by  use  and 
by  analogy  to  say  either  cherubs  and  seraphs,  according  to  the 
English  idiom,  or  cherubim  and  seraphim,  according  to  the 
Oriental.  The  former  suits  better  the  familiar,  the  latter  the 
solemn  style.  It  is  surprising  that  an  author  of  Mr.  Addison's 
discernment  did  not,  iu  criticising  Milton,  take  notice  of  a 
distinction  which  is  everywhere  so  carefully  observed  by  the 
poet.  I  shall  add  to  this  ren"!ark,  that,  as  the  words  cherubim 
and  seraphim  are  plural,  the  terms  cherubims  and  seraphims,  as 
expressing  the  plural,  are  quite  improper.  Yet  these  bar- 
barisms occur  sometimes  iu  our  translation  of  the  Bible ; 
which,  nevertheless,  doth  not  once  adopt  the  plural  form 
cherubim  and  seraphim  to  express  the  singular,  though  one 
would  naturally  imagine  that  this  error  must  originally  have 
given  rise  to  the  other. 

Inaccuracies  are  often  found  in  the  way  vv^herein  the  de 
grees  of  comparison  are  applied  and  constriied.  Some  of 
these,  I  suspect,  have  as  yet  escaped  the  animadversion  of 
all  our  critics.  Before  I  produce  examples,  it  will  be  proper 
to  observe,  that  the  comparative  degree  implies  commonly  a 
comparison  of  one  thing  with  one  other  thing ;  the  superla- 
tive, on  the  contrary,  always  implies  a  comparison  of  one 
thing  with  many  others.  The  former,  consequently,  requires 
to  be  followed  by  the  singular  number,  the  latter  by  the  plu- 
ral. In  our  language,  the  conjunction  than  must  be  inter- 
posed between  the  things  compared  in  the  former  case,  the 
preposition  of  is  always  used  in  the  latter. 

The  following  is  an  example  of  wrong  construction  in  the 
comparative  :  "  This  noble  nation  hath  of  all  others  admitted 

*'  I  am  sensible  that,  in  what  concerns  the  subject  of  this  section.  I  have 
been  in  a  great  measure  prevented  by  the  remarks  of  Lowth  and  Priesliey, 
and  some  other  critics  and  grammarians,  who  have  lately  favoured  the 
world  with  their  observations.  Since  reading  tlieir  piibhcations,  I  have 
curtailed  considerably  what  I  prepared  on  this  article;  for,  though  I  hsd 
rarely  hit  upon  the  same  examples,  there  was  often  a  coincidence  in  the 
matter,  inasmuch  as  the  species  of  fault  animadverted  on  was  frequently 
the  same.  I  have  now  almost  entirely  confined  myself  to  such  slips  as 
hwe  been  overlooked  by  others  J  say  almo.ii  entirely ;  for,  when  any  error 
begins  to  prevail,  even  a  single  additional  remonstrance  may  be  of  conse 
quence  :  and  in  points  in  which  critics  are  divided,  I  thought  it  not  unrea 
sonable  to  oli'er  my  opinion.  t  Spectator,  No.  327 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  205 

fewer  corruptions."*  The  word /ewer  is  here  construed  pre- 
cisely as  if  it  were  the  superhitive.  Grammatically  thus  : 
"This  noble  nation  halh  admitted /eii^cr  corruptions  than  any 
other.''''  Sometimes,  indeed,  the  comparative  is  rightly  fol- 
lowed by  a  plural ;  as  in  these  words,  "  He  is  wiser  than  we." 
Ijut  it  cannot  be  construed  with  the  preposition  of  before 
hat  to  which  the  subject  is  compared.  There  is  one  case, 
and  but  one,  wherein  the  aforesaid  preposition  is  proper  af- 
ter the  comparative,  and  that  is,  when  the  words  follow- 
ing the  preposition  comprehend  both  sides  of  the  compari- 
son ;  as,  "  He  is  the  taller  man  of  the  two."  In  tliese  words, 
the  two,  are  included  he  and  the  person  to  whom  he  is  com- 
pared. It  deserves  our  notice,  also,  that  in  such  cases,  and 
only  in  such,  the  comparative  has  the  definite  article  the  pre- 
fixed to  it,"and  is  construed  precisely  as  the  superlative  ;  nay, 
both  degrees  are  in  sucli  cases  used  indiscriminately.  We 
say  rightly,  either  "  This  is  the  weaker  of  the  two,"  or  "  the 
weakest  of  the  two."  If,  however,  we  may  form  a  judgment 
from  the  most  general  principles  of  analogy,  the  former  is 
preferable,  because  there  are  only  two  things  compared. 

I  shall  subjoin  to  this  an  inaccuracy  in  a  comparison  of 
equality,  where,  though  the  positive  degree  only  is  used,  the 
construction  must  be  similar  to  that  of  the  comparative,  both 
being  followed  by  conjunctions  which  govern  no  case.  "  Such 
notions  would  be  avowed  at  this  time  by  none  but  Rosicru- 
cians,  and  fanatics  as  mad  as  them."f  Grammatically  they, 
the  verb  are  being  understood. 

That  the  particles  as  after  the  positive,  and  than  after  the 
comparative,  are  conjunctions,  and  not  prepositions,  seems 
never  to  have  been  questioned  by  any  gi-ammarian  or  critic 
before  Dr.  Priestley.  I  readily  acknowledge  that  it  is  use 
which  must  decide  tlie  point ;  nor  should  I  hesitate  a  moment 
in  agreeing  to  the  notion  he  suggests,  if  it  were  supported 
by  what  could  be  justly  denominated  general  and  reputable 
use.  But  to  me  it  is  manifest  that  both  the  most  numerous 
and  the  most  considerable  authorities  are  on  the  opposite 
side  ;  and  therefore,  that  those  instances  which  he  produceth 
in  favour  of  that  hypothesis  ought  to  be  regarded  merely  as 
negligences  of  style,  into  which  (as  I  shall  have  occasion  to 
observe  more  fully  in  the  sequel)  even  the  best  writers  will 
sometimes  fall.  That  in  the  colloquial  dialect,  as  Johnson 
calls  it,  such  idioms  frequently  occur,  is  undeniable.  In  con- 
versation you  will  perhaps  ten  times  of'tener  hear  people 
say,  "  There's  the  books  you  wanted,"  than  "  There  are  the 
books ;"  and  *'  You  was  present,"  when  a  single  person  is 
addressed,  than  "  You  were  present."  Yet  good  use  is  al- 
ways considered  as  declaring  solely  for  the  last  mode  of  ex« 

*  Swift's  Mechanical  Operations.  +  Boliiigbroke's  Ph.  Fr.,  24. 

S 


206  THE   PHILOSOPHY  OP  rhetohic. 

pressiou  in  both  cases.  The  argument  drawn  from  the  French 
usage  (wliich,  by-the-way,  hath  no  authority  in  our  tongue) 
is  not  at  all  apposite.* 

But,  supposing  good  use  were  divided  on  the  present  ques- 
tion, I  acknowledge  that  the  first  and  second  canons  proposed 
on  this  subject!  would  determine  me  to  prefer  the  opinion 
of  those  who  consider  the  aforesaid  particles  as  conjunctions. 
The  first  directs  us  in  doubtful  cases  to  inchne  to  that  side 
in  which  there  is  the  least  danger  of  ambiguity.  In  order  to 
illustrate  this  point,  it  will  be  necessary  to  observe,  that  the 
doubt  is  not  properly  stated  by  saying,  with  Dr.  Priestley, 
that  the  question  is  whether  the  nominative  or  accusative 
ought  to  follow  the  particles  ihan  and  as,  but  whether  these 
particles  are,  in  such  particular  cases,  to  be  regarded  as  con- 
junctions or  prepositions  ;  for,  on  either  supposition,  it  must 
be  admitted,  that  in  certain  circumstances  the  accusative 
ought  to  follow,  and  not  the  nominative.  But  I  insist  that, 
as  in  such  cases  there  is  a  difference  in  the  sense,  uniformly 
to  consider  those  particles  as  conjunctions  is  the  only  way  of 
removing  the  ambiguity.  Thus  I  say  properly,  "  I  esteem 
you  more  than  they."  I  say  properly,  also,  "  I  esteem  you 
more  than  them,"  but  in  a  sense  quite  different.  If  than  is 
understood  as  a  conjunction,  there  can  be  nothing  ambiguous 
in  either  sentence.  The  case  of  the  pronoun  determines  at 
once  the  words  to  be  supplied.  The  first  is,  "  I  esteem  you 
more  than  they  esteem  you."  The  second  is,  "  I  esteem  you 
more  than  I  esteem  them."  But  this  distinction  is  confound- 
ed if  you  make  than  a  preposition,  which,  as  in  every  instance 
it  will  require  the  oblique  case,  will,  by  consequence,  render 
the  expression  equivocal.  For  this  reason,  I  consider  that 
quotation  from  Smollet  (who  is,  by-the-by,  the  only  authority 
alleged  on  this  question),  "  Tell  the  cardinal  that  I  under- 

*  The  oblique  cases  of  their  personal  pronouns,  answering  to  our  me,  thee, 
and  him,  are,  me,  te,  and  le,  not  moi,  toi,  and  lui.  In  these  last  we  have  the 
indefinite  form,  which  serves  indifferently,  as  occasion  requires,  for  either 
nominative  or  accusative,  and  to  which  there  is  nothing  in  our  language 
that  exactly  corresponds.  Thus,  to  express  in  Frencii  "  He  and  I  are  rela- 
tions," we  must  say  "  Lui  et  moi,  nous  sommes  parens."  But  in  English, 
"  Him  and  me,  we  are  relations,"  would  be  insufferable.  The  nominative 
je,  tu,  il,  are  never  used  by  them  but  when  immediately  adjoined  to  the  verb, 
prefixed  in  affirming,  or  affixed  in  interrogating.  In  every  other  situation 
the  indefinite  form  must  supply  their  place.  Le  Clerc  thus  renders  a  pas- 
sage of  Scripture  (Rev.,  i.,  18),  "  Moi  qui  vis  presentement,  j'ai  ete  niort." 
But  who  that  understands  English  would  say,  "  Me  who  live  at  present, 
I  have  been  dead  ?"  Let  this  serve  also  as  an  answer  to  the  plea  for  these 
vulgar  but  unauthorized  idioms,  It  is  me,  it  is  him,  from  the  C"est  moi,  c'est 
lui,  of  the  French.  I  shall  observe,  in  passing,  that  one  of  Priestley's  quo- 
tations in  support  of  these  phrases  is  defensible  on  a  different  n^inciple,  and 
therefore  not  to  his  purpose.  "  It  is  not  me  you  are  in  love  with."  The 
me  is  here  governed  by  the  preposition  with.  "  It  is  not  with  me  you  are  in 
love."     Such  transpositions  are  frequent  in  our  language. 

t  Book  ii.,  chap,  ii.,  sect.  L 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  207 

Stand  poetry  better  than  him,"  as  chargeable  not  so  much 
with  inaccuracy  as  with  impropriety.  The  sense  it  exprcss- 
eth  is  clearly,  "  I  understand  poetry  better  than  I  understand 
him."  But  this  is  not  the  sense  of  the  author.  The  second 
canon  leads  directly  to  the  same  decision,  as  it  teacheth  us 
to  prefer  what  is  most  agreeable  to  analogy.  Now  that  is 
always  most  repugnant  to  analogy  which  tends  most  to  mul- 
tiply exceptions.  Consequently,  to  consider  the  particles 
employed  in  this  manner,  of  stating  a  comparison,  as  con- 
junctions (which  they  arc  universally  admitted  to  be  in  every 
other  case),  is  more  analogical  than  to  consider  them  as  chan- 
ging their  usual  denomination  and  character  in  such  instances. 

But  to  proceed  :  incorrectness  in  using  the  superlative  de- 
gree appears  in  the  subsequent  quotation  :  "  The  vice  of  cov- 
etousness  is  what  enters  deepest  into  the  soul  of  any  oilier^* 
An  instance  of  the  same  fault  I  shall  give  from  a  writer  ol 
no  small  merit  for  harmony  and  elegance.  "  We  have  a  pro- 
fession set  apart  for  the  purposes  of  persuasion,  wherein  a 
talent  of  this  kind  would  prove  the  likeliest,  perhaps,  of  any 
other.'"\  I  do  not  here  criticise  on  the  word  other  in  those 
examples,  which,  in  my  opinion,  is  likewise  faulty,  after  the 
superlative  ;  but  this  fault  comes  under  another  category. 
The  error  I  mean  at  present  to  point  out  is,  the  superlative 
followed  by  the  singular  number,  "  the  deepest  of  any  other," 
"  the  likeliest  of  any  other."  We  should  not  say  "  the  best 
of  any  man,"  or  "  the  best  of  any  other  man,"  for  "  the  best 
of  men."  We  may  indeed  say  "  He  is  the  oldest  of  the  fam- 
ily ;"  but  the  word  family  is  a  collective  noun,  and  equiva- 
lent to  all  in  the  house.  In  like  manner,  it  may  be  said,  "  The 
eyes  are  the  worst  of  his  face."  But  this  expression  is  evi- 
dently deficient.  The  face  is  not  the  thing  with  which  the 
eyes  are  compared,  but  contains  the  things  with  which  they 
are  compared.  The  sentence,  when  the  ellipsis  is  supplied, 
stands  thus  :  "  Of  all  the  features  of  his  face,  the  eyes  are  the 
worst." 

Both  the  expressions  above  censured  may  be  corrected  by 
substituting  the  comparative  in  room  of  the  superlative. 
"  The  vice  of  covetousness  is  what  enters  deeper  into  the 
soul  than  any  other ;"  and  "  We  have  a  profession  set  apart 
for  the  purposes  of  persuasion,  wherein  a  talent  of  this  kind 
would  prove  likelier,  perhaps,  thaii  any  othery  It  is  also  pos- 
sible to  retain  the  superlative,  and  render  the  expression 
grammatical.  '•  Covetousness  is  what  of  all  vices  enters  the 
deepest  into  the  soul  ;"  and  "  wherein  a  talent  of  this  kind 
would  perhaps,  of  all  talents,  prove  the  likeliest.'''' 

In  the  following  example  we  have  a  numeral  adjective, 
which  doth  not  belong  to  any  entire  word  in  tlie  sentence  as 

•  Guardian,  No.  19.  t  Fitz-Osborn's  Letters,  b.  i.,  1.  21. 


208  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

its  substantive,  but  to  a  part  of  a  word.  "  The  first  project 
was  to  shorten  discourse  by  cutting  polysj'llables  into  one."* 
The  term  one  relates  to  syllable,  a  part  of  the  word  polysyl- 
lables. This  is  quite  ungrammatical.  The  expression  is 
likewise  exceptionable  on  the  score  of  propriety,  but  of  this 
afterward. 

-  There  is  an  error  of  the  same  kind  in  the  following  pas- 
sage from  Addison  :  "  My  Christian  and  surname  begin  and 
end  with  the  same  letters."!  The  word  Christian  is  here  an 
adjective,  which  hath  for  its  substantive  the  last  syllable  of 
the  word  surname.  The  expression  is  also  exceptionable  on 
the  score  of  perspicuity,  of  which  afterward. 

Sometimes  the  possessive  pronoun  does  not  suit  the  ante- 
cedent. ''Each  of  the  sexes,"  says  Addison,  "should  keep 
within  its  particular  bounds,  and  content  themselves  to  exult 
within  their  respective  districts."!  Themselves  and  their  can- 
not grammatically  refer  to  each,  singular.  Besides,  the  tres- 
pass here  is  the  more  glaring,  that  these  pronouns  are  coupled 
with  its  referring  to  the  same  noun. 

In  no  part  of  speech  do  good  writers  more  frequently  fall 
into  mistakes  than  in  the  verbs.  Of  these  I  shall  give  some 
specimens  out  of  a  much  greater  number  which  might  be  col- 
lected. The  first  shall  be  of  a  wrong  tense  ;  "  Ye  will  not  come 
unto  me  that  ye  might  have  life."^  In  two  clauses  thus  con- 
nected, when  the  first  verb  is  in  the  present  or  the  future,  the 
second,  which  is  dependant  on  it,  cannot  be  in  the  past.  The 
words,  therefore,  ought  to  have  been  translated,  "  that  ye 
may  have  life."  On  the  contrary,  had  the  first  verb  been  in 
the  preterit,  the  second  ought  to  have  been  so  too.  Thus, 
"  Ye  would  not  come  to  me,"  or  "  Ye  did  not  come  to  me, 
that  ye  might  have  life,"  is  entirelj'  grammatical.  In  either 
of  these  instances,  to  use  the  present  tense  would  be  errone- 
ous. When  the  first  verb  is  in  the  preterperfect,  or  the  pres- 
ent pei'fect,  as  some  call  it,  because  it  hath  a  reference  both  to 
the  past  and  to  the  present,  the  second,  I  imagine,  may  be  in 
either  tense.  Thus.  "  Ye  have  not  come  to  me  that  ye  mis:ht 
— or  that  ye  maij — have  life,"  seem  equally  unexceptionable. 

Let  it  be  observed,  that  in  expressing  abstract  or  universal 
truth,  the  present  tense  of  the  verb  ought,  according  to  the 
idiom  of  our  language,  and  perhaps  of  every  language,  al- 
ways to  be  employed.  In  such  cases,  the  verb  in  that  form 
has  no  relation  to  time,  but  serves  merely  as  a  copula  to  the 
two  terms  of  the  proposition.  The  case  is  different  with  the 
past  and  the  future,  in  which  the  notion  of  time  is  always  com- 
prehended. Yet  this  peculiarity  in  the  present  hath  some- 
times been  overlooked,  even  by  good  authors,  who,  when 
speaking  of  a  past  event  which  occasions  the  mention  of  the 

♦  Voyage  to  Laputa.  t  Spectator,  No.  505.  O. 

X  Freeholder,  No.  33.  <>  John,  v.,  40. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  200 

same  general  truth,  are  led  to  use  the  same  tense' in  enumer- 
ating tTie  general  truth,  with  that  which  had  heen  employed  iu 
the  preceding  part  of  the  sentence.  Of  this  we  iiave  llie  fol- 
lowing example  from  Swift,  which  shall  serve  for  tlie  second 
instance  of  inaccuracy  in  tlie  verbs.  "  It  is  confidently  re- 
ported that  two  young  gentlemen  of  real  hopes,  bright  wit, 
and  profound  judgment,  who,  upon  a  thorough  examination 
of  causes  and  effects,  and  by  the  mere  force  of  natural  abil- 
ities, without  tlie  least  tincture  of  learning,  have  made  a  dis- 
covery that  there  was  no  God,  and  generously  communica- 
ting their  thoughts  for  the  good  of  the  public,  were  .some  time 
ago,  by  aii  unparalleled  severity,  and  upon  I  know  not  what 
ob.solete  law,  broke  for  blasphemy."*  Properly,  "  Have 
made  a  discoverj'  that  there  ts  no  God.'' 

The  third  example  shall  be  of  a  wrong  mood.  "  If  thou 
bring  thy  gift  to  the  altar,  and  there  remcmbp.rcst  that  thy 
brother  hath  aught  against  ihee."t  The  construction  of  the 
two  verbs  bring  and  remcmherest  ought  to  be  the  same,  as 
they  are  both  under  the  regimen  of  the  same  conjunction  if. 
Yet  the  one  is  iu  the  subjunctive  mood,  and  the  other  in  the 
indicative. 

The  fourth  instance  shall  be  the  omission  of  an  essential 
part  of  one  of  the  complex  tenses,  the  writer  apparently  re- 
ferring to  a  part  of  the  verb  occurring  in  a  former  clause  of 
the  sentence,  although  the  part  referred  to  will  not  supply 
the  defect,  but  some  other  part  not  produced.  Of  this  the 
following  is  an  example  :  "  I  shall  do  all  I  can  to  persuade 
others  iolahe  the  same  measures  for  their  cure  which  I  /inr<r."J 
Here  we  have  a  reference  in  the  end  to  the  preceding  verb 
Lake.  Yet  it  is  not  the  word  lake  which  will  supply  the  sense, 
but  taken.  This  participle,  therefore,  ought  to  have  been 
added. 

The  fifth  specimen  in  the  verbs  shall  be  of  a  faulty  refer- 
ence to  a  part  to  be  mentioned.  ''  This  dedication  may  serve 
for  almost  any  book  that  has^'ia,  or  shall  be  published."  Has 
in  this  place  being  merely  a  part  of  a  complex  tense,  means 
nothing  without  the  rest  of  the  tense;  yet  tlic  rest  of  the  tense 
is  not  to  be  found  in  the  sentence.  We  cannot  say  "  any 
boidv  that  has  published.''^  no  more  can  we  say  "  tluit  bos  be  pub- 
lis/ted.'''  Corrected  it  would  run  thus,  "  that  bas  been  or  sball 
be  published.''''  The  word  is  ought  to  be  expunged,  as  adding 
nothing  to  the  sense. 

I  shall  next  produce  a  few  instances  of  inaccuracy  which 
re.-sult  from  couphng  w'ords  tog(;ther,  and  assigning  to  them 
a  common  regimen,  wiien  use  will  not  admit  that  they  be 
construed  in  the  same  maimer.  The  following  is  an  example 
in  the  construction  of  adjectives  :  "  Will  it  be  urged  that  the 

*  An  Arg\jment  against  abolishing  Christianity, 
t  Matt.,  v.,  23.  i  Guardian,  No.  1 

S9 


210  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

four  Gospels  are  as  old,  or  even  older,  than  tradition  ?"*  The 
words  as  old  and  older  cannot  have  a  common  regimen  ;  the 
one  requires  to  be  followed  by  the  conjunction  as,  the  other 
by  than.  If  he  had  said  "  as  old  as  tradition,  and  even  older,'''' 
there  would  have  been  no  error.  The  comparative,  in  this 
case,  is  not  construed  with  the  preceding  words,  but  with 
words  which,  being  ascertained  by  the  preceding,  are  proper- 
ly enough  understood. 

I  shall  exemplify  the  same  inaccuracy  in  the  construction 
of  verbs.  "  It  requireth  few  talents  to  which  most  men  are 
not  born,  or,  at  least,  may  not  acquire^^  Admitting  that  the 
words  to  lohich  are  rightly  construed  with  the  passive  parti- 
ciple born,  they  cannot  be  construed  with  the  active  verb  ac- 
quire ;  for  it  ought  to  be  noted,  that  the  connexion  between 
the  preposition  and  the  noun  or  pronoun  governed  by  it  is  so 
intimate  that  there  cannot  be  a  reference  to  the  one  without 
the  other.  The  last  clause,  therefore,  ought  to  run  thus,  "  or 
which,  at  least,  they  may  not  acquire."  The  repetition  of  the 
relative  makes  the  insertion  of  the  personal  pronoun  neces- 
sary. 

There  is  an  error  of  the  same  kind  in  the  sentence  follow- 
ing :  '•  The  Court  of  Chancery  ivec^enily  mitigates,  and  breaks 
the  teeth  of  the  common  law."t  What  is  the  regimen  of  the 
active  verb  mitigates  ?  Regularly  it  ought  to  be,  the  teeth  of 
the  common  law,  as  these  vv'ords  make  the  regimen  of  the  other 
active  verb  breaks,  with  which  the  former  is  coupled.  But  as 
this  manner  of  construing  the  sentence  would  render  the  ex- 
pression highly  improper,  if  not  nonsensical,  it  is  evidently 
the  author's  view  that  the  vevh  mitigates  should  be  construed 
with  these  words  the  common  law,  which,  being  in  construc- 
tion with  the  preposition  of  (or,  as  some  would  call  it,  in  the 
genitive),  cannot  serve  grammatically  as  the  regimen  of  an 
active  verb. 

"  Give  the  Whigs,"  says  the  candid  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's. 
"  but  power  enough  to  insult  their  sovereign,  engross  his  fa- 
vours to  themselves,  and  to  oppress  and  plunder  their  fellow- 
subjects,  they  presently  grow  into  good  humour  and  good  lan- 
guage towards  the  crown. "^  I  do  not  hke  much  ^row  into 
good  humour  for  growing  good-humoured,  but  grow  into  good 
language  is  insufferable. 

I  shall  add  to  these  an  instance  in  the  syntax  of  nouns. 
"  There  is  never  wanting  a  set  of  evil  instruments,  who, 
either  out  of  mad  zeal,  private  hatred,  or  filthy  lucre,  are  al- 
ways ready. "II  We  say  properly,  "  A  man  acts  out  of  mad 
zeal  or  out  of  private  hatred ;"  but  we  cannot  say,  if  we  would 
speak  English,  "  he  acts  out  of  filthy  lucre.''''    He  ought,  there-  " 

*  Bolingb.  Phil.,  Es.  iv.,  s.  xix.  t  Swift  on  Conversation. 

t  Spectator,  No.  564.  ^  Examiner,  No.  35. 

II  Swift's  Sermon  on  False  Witness. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  211 

fore,  to  have  substituted  in  the  place  of  the  last  two  words 
the  term  avarice,  or  love  of  filthy-  lutre,  either  of  which  ex- 
pressions would  have  been  rightly  construed  with  the  prepo- 
sition. 

Of  the  same  kind  nearly  is  the  following  specimen  in  the 
government  of  a  substantive  :  "  There  is  one  that  \v\\\  think 
hersielf  obliged  to  double  her  kindntss  and  caresses  of  me."* 
The  word  kindness  requires  to  be  followed  by  either  to  or  for, 
and  cannot  be  construed  with  the  preposition  of 

We  often  find  something  irregular  in  the  management  of 
the  prepositions ;  for  instance,  in  the  omission  of  one  alto- 
gether :  "  He  lamented  the  fatal  mistake  the  world  had  been 
so  long  in  using  silk-worms. "f  Another  in  is  necessary  to 
complete  the  construction,  whether  we  suppose  the  m  men- 
tioned to  belong  to  the  preceding  words  or  to  the  succeeding. 
But  as  it  would  have  sounded  harshly  to  subjoin  another  in 
immediately  after  the  former,  it  would  have  been  better  to 
give  the  sentence  another  turn  ;  as,  "  He  lamented  the  fatal 
mistake  in  which  the  world  had  been  so  long,  in  using  silk- 
worms."J 

We  have  a  similar  omission,  though  not  of  a  preposition, 
m  the  expression  following :  "  That  the  discoursing  on  poli- 
tics shall  be  looked  upon  as  dull  as  talking  on  the  weather."^ 
Syntax  absolutely  requires  that  the  sentence  in  this  form 
should  have  another  as  immediately  before  the  first.  At  the 
same  time,  it  must  be  owned  that  this  would  render  the  ex- 
pression very  inelegant.  This  dilemma  might  have  been 
avoided  by  giving  another  turn  to  the  concluding  part,  as 
thus  "  ^— shall  be  looked  upon  as  equally  dull  with  talking  on 
the  weather." 

Of  an  error  in  a  wrong  choice  of  a  preposition,  these  words 
of  the  same  author  will  furnish  an  example  :  "  The  greatest 
masters  of  critical  learning  differ  among  one  another.^''^  Had 
he  said  "■  A\fiex  among  themselves,^''  the  expression  would  have 
been  faultless.:  But  the  terms  themselves  and  one  another, 
though  frequently  synonymous,  rarely  admit  the  same  con- 
struction. We  cannot  say  "  one  differs  among  another ;"  but 
we  may  say  "one  differs  yVom  another"  or  '■'•with  another;'''' 
the  former  to  express  a  difference  in  opinion,  the  latter  a 
quarrel  or  breach.  It  ought,  therefore,  to  have  been,  in  the 
above-cited  passage,  "  differ  from  one  another.'''' 
,  I  shall  only  add  an  instance  or  two  of  inaccuracy  in  the 
conjunctions  and  the  adverbs  ;  first,  in  the  conjunctions  :  "  A 
petty  constable  wiWneither  act  cheerfully  or  wisely."^  Prop- 
erly, "  act  neither  cheerfully  nor  wisely."  Neither  cannot 
grammatically  be  followed  by  or. 

*  Spect.,  No.  490,  T.  t  Voyage  to  Laputa. 

X  Voyage  to  Laputa.  ^  Freeholder,  No.  38. 

11  Spectator,  No.  321.  II  Swift's  Free  Thoughts,  (fcc. 


212  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF    RHETORIC. 

An  example  of  incorrectness  in  the  adverbs  you  have  in 
the  passage  following:  "  I-est  I  should  be  charged  f(.r  being 
worse  than  my  word,  I  shall  endeavour  to  satisfy  my  reader 
by  pursuing  my  method  proposed  ;  tf  peradventure  he  can  call 
to  mind  what  that  method  was."*  The  adverb  peradventure, 
expressing  a  degree  of  evidence  or  credibility,  cannot  regu- 
larly be  construed  with  the  hypothetical  conjunction  if.  Il 
is  only  to  affirmations  and  negations,  and  not  to  bare  suppo- 
sitions, that  all  the  adverbs  denoting  certainty,  probability, 
or  possibility  properly  belong. 

The  following  passage  in  the  common  version  of  the  Bible 
is  liable  to  the  same  censure  :  "  Micaiah  said.  If  thou  certainly 
return  in  peace,  then  hath  not  the  Lord  spoken  by  me."t 
'I'he  translators  in  this,  as  in  some  other  places,  have  been 
misled  by  a  well-meant  attempt  to  express  the  force  of  a 
Hebraism,  which  in  many  cases  cannot  be  expressed  in  our 
language. 

I  shall  conclude  this  article  with  a  quotation  from  an  ex- 
cellent author,  of  which,  indeed,  it  would  not  be  easy  to  say 
in  what  part  the  solecism  may  be  discovered,  the  whole  pas- 
sage being  so  perfectly  solecistical.  "  As  he  that  would 
keep  his  house  in  repair  must  attend  every  little  breach  or 
flaw,  and  supply  it  immediately,  else  time  alone  will  bring 
all  to  ruin,  how  much  more  the  common  accidents  of  storms 
and  rain?  He  must  live  in  perpetual  danger  of  his  house 
falling  about  his  ears  ;  and  will  find  it  cheaper  to  throw  it 
quite  down,  and  build  it  again  from  the  ground,  perhaps  upon 
a  new  foundation,  or  at  least  in  a  new  form,  which  may 
neither  be  so  safe  nor  so  convenient  as. the  old. "J  It  is  im- 
possible to  analyze  this  sentence  grammatically,  or  to  say 
whether  it  be  one  sentence  or  more.  It  seems,  by  the  con- 
junction GA-,  to  begin  with  a  comparison,  but  we  have  not  a 
single  hint  of  the  subject  illustrated.  Besides,  the  intro- 
ducing of  the  interrogation,  How  much  more'?  after  else, 
which  could  be  regularly  followed  only  by  an  affirmation  or 
negation,  and  the  incoherency  of  the  next  clause.  He  /nusl 
live,  render  it,  indeed,  all  of  a  piece. 

So  much  for  the  solecism,  of  which  examples  might  be 
multiplied  almost  without  end.  Let  those  produced  suffice 
for  a  specimen.  It  is  acknowledged  that  such  negligences 
are  not  to  be  considered  as  blemishes  of  any  moment  in  a 
Avork  of  genius,  since  those,  and  even  worse,  may  be  dis- 
covered, on  a  careful  examination,  in  the  most  celebrated 
writings.     It  is,  for  this  reason,  acknowledged  also,  that  it  is 

*  Shaftesbury,  vol.  iii.,  IMisc.  ii.,  ch.  iii. 

f  2  Cliron.,  xviii.,  27.  Sani.  in  his  French  translation,  hath  expressed 
the  sense  of  the  original  with  more  simplicity  and  propriety  :  "  Mifhee 
repartit,  Sivous  revenezen  paix.le  Seigneur  n'a  point  parle  parmabouche. 

X  Project  for  the  Advancement  of  Religion,  last  sentence. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  213 

noither  candid  nor  judicious  to  form  an  opinion  of  a  book 
fium  a  few  such  spt^cks,  seh  cled,  pcrhiips,  from  tlic  disimit 
I)arts  of  a  lar^re  porforinance,  and  broujrlit  into  our  view  ;ii 
once:  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  cci-tain  that  an  attenlion 
to  these  hltle  thinp[S  ought  not  to  be  altogetiier  disreyardid 
by  anv  writer.  Purity  of  expression  hath  but  a  small  share 
of  merit;  it  hath,  however,  some  share.  But  it  ought  espe- 
cially to  be  remembered,  that,  on  the  account  of  purily.  a 
considerable  part  of  the  merit  discovered  in  the  other  virtues 
of  elocution,  to  which  it  contributes,  ought  undoubtedly  to 
be  changed.  The  words  of  the  language  constitute  the  ma- 
terials with  which  the  orator  must  work  ;  the  rules  of  the 
language  teach  him  by  what  management  those  materials 
are  rendered  useful.  And  what  is  purity  but  the  right  using 
of  the  words  of  the  language  by  a  careful  observance  of  the 
rules!  It  is,  therefore,  justly  considered  as  essential  to  all 
the  other  graces  of  expression.  Hence  not  only  perspicuity 
and  vivacity,  but  even  elegance  and  animation,  derive  a  lustre 

,   .  SECTION  III. 

t   I  THE    I.MPROPHIETY. 

,  1 

r  roHE  now  to  consider  the  third  and  last  class  of  faults 
against  purity,  to  which  I  give  the  iiame  of  impropriett/.  The 
barbarism  is  an  offence  against  etymology,  the  solecism 
ag;iinst  syntax,  tlie  impropriety  against  lexicography.  The 
business  of  the  lexicogrripher  is  to  assign  to  every  word  of 
ti)e  laiigu.ige  the  precise  meaning  or  meanings  which  use 
hath  assigned  to  it.  To  do  this  is  as  really  a  part  of  the 
grammarian's  province,  though  commonly  executed  by  a 
different  hand,  as  etymology  and  syntax.  The  end  of  every 
grammar  is  to  convey  the  knowledge  of  that  language  of 
winch  it  is  the  grammar.  But  tlie  knowledge  of  all  the 
rules,  both  of  derivation,  under  which  inflection  is  included, 
and  of  construction,  nay,  and  of  all  the  words  in  the  language, 
is  not  the  knowledge  of  the  language.  The  words  must  be 
known,  not  barely  as  sounds,  but  as  signs.  Vv'e  must  know 
to  what  things  respectively  they  are  appropriated.  Thus, 
in  our  own  tongue  we  may  err  egregionsly  against  propriety, 
and,  conseqeijtly,  agaiii.st  purity,  though  all  the  words  we 
employ  be  I'^nglish,  and  though  they  be  construed  in  the 
English  idiom.  The  reason  is  evident :  they  may  be  misap- 
plied ;  they  may  he  employed  as  signs  of  things  to  which 
use  hath  not  affixed  them.  This  fault  may  be  commit  led 
either  in  single  words  or  in  phrases. 

Part  1.   Impropriety  in  Single  WorJs. 

I  begin  with  single  words.  As  none  but  tliose  who  are 
grossly  Ignorant  of  our  tongue  can  misapply  the  words  that 


214  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

have  no  affinity  to  those  whose  place  they  are  made  to  oc- 
cupy, I  shall  lake  notice  only  of  such  improprieties  as  by^ 
some  resemblance  or  proximity,  in  sound  or  sense,  or  both, 
a  writer  is  apt  unwarily  to  be  seduced  into. 

It  is  by  proximity  in  sound  that  several  are  misled  to  use 
the  word  observation  for  observance,  as  when  they  speak* of  the 
religious  observation  of  a  festival  for  the  religious  observ- 
ance of  it.  Both  words  spring  from  the  root  observe,  but  ia 
differenfsignifications.  When  to  observe  signifies  to  rem/im, 
the  verbal  noun  is  observation ;  when  it  signifies  to  obey  or  to 
keep,  the  verb  is  observance. 

By  a  similar  mistake,  endurance  hath  been  used  for  dura- 
tion, and  confounded  with  it,  whereas  its  proper  sense  is  pa- 
tience. It  is  derived  from  the  active  verb  to  endure,  which 
signifies  to  suffer,  and  not  from  the  neuter,  which  signifies  to 
last.  In  the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  the  word  endurance 
was  synonymous  with  duration,  whereas  now  it  is  in  this  ac- 
ceptation obsolete.  Nay,  even  in  a  later  period,  about  the 
middle  of  the  last  century,  several  words  were  used  synony 
mously  which  we  now  invariably  discriminate.  Such  are 
the  terms  state  and  estate,  property  and  propriety,  import  and 
importance,  conscience  and  consciousness,  arrant  and  errant. 

Human  and  humane  are  sometimes  confounded,  though  the 
only  authorized  sense  of  the  former  is,  belonging  to  man ;  of 
the  latter,  kind  and  compassionate.  Humanly  is  improperly  put 
for  humanely  in  these  lines  of  Pope. 

"Though  leam'd,  well-bred;  and  though  well-bred,- sincere  ; 
Modestly  bold,  and  humanly  severe."* 

The  abstract  humanity  is  equally  adapted  to  both  senses. 

By  an  error  of  the  same  kind  with  the  former,  the  adjec- 
tives ceremonious  and  ceremonial  are  sometimes  used  promis- 
cuously, though  by  the  best  and  most  general  use  they  are 
distinguished.  They  come  from  the  same  noun  ceremonie, 
which  signifies  both  a  form  of  civility  and  religious  rite.  The 
epithet  expressive  of  the  first  signification  is  ceremonious,  of 
the  second  ceremonial. 

The  word  construction  serves  as  the  verbal  noun  of  two 
different  verbs,  to  construe  and  to  construct.  The  first  is  a 
grammatical  term,  relating  solely  to  the  disposition  of  words 
in  a  sentence  ;  the  second  signifies  io  fabricate  or  build.  The 
common  relation  in  which  the  two  verbs  stand  to  the  samo 
appellative  hath  misled  some  writers  to  confound  them ;  so 
far,  at  least,  as  to  use  improperly  the  word  construct,  and 
speak  of  constructing  instead  of  construing  a  sentence  ;  for  I 
have  not  observed  the  like  misapplication  of  the  other  verb. 
We  never  hear  of  construing  a  fabric  or  machine. 

Academician  is  frequently  to  be  found  in  Bolingbroke'i 

*  liissav  OQ  Criticisnu 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  215 

works  for  academic.  The  former  denotes  solely,  with  us,  a 
member  of  a  French  academy,  or  of  one  establislied  on  a 
similar  footing  ;  the  latter  a  Platonic  philosopher,  one  of  that 
sect  which  took  its  denomination  from  the  Grecian  academy, 
or,  more  properly,  from  the  grove  of  Academus,  where  the 
^principles  of  that  pliilosophy  were  first  inculcated. 

By  a  like  error,  the  woi-ds  sophist  and  sophister  are  some- 
times confounded ;  the  proper  sense  of  the  former  being  a 
teacher  of  philosophy  in  ancient  Greece,  of  the  latter,  a  spe- 
cious but  false  reasoner.  "  To  demean  one's  self"  has  been 
improperly  used  by  some  writers,  misled  by  the  sound  of  the 
second  syllable,  for  "  to  debase  one's  self,"  or  "  to  behave 
meanly,"  whereas  the  verb  to  demean  implies  no  more  than 
the  verb  to  behave.  Both  require  an  adverb,  or  something 
equivalent,  to  enable  them  to  express  whether  the  demean- 
our or  behaviour  is  good  or  bad,  noble  or  mean. 

E'er,  a  contraction  of  the  adverb  ever,  hath,  from  a  resem- 
blance, or,  rather,  an  identity  in  sound,  been  mistaken  for  the 
conjunction  ere,  before  ;  and,  in  like  maimer,  it's,  the  genitive 
of  the  pronoun  it,  for  'tis,  a  contraction  of  it  is. 

In  the  same  way,  bad  is  sometimes  very  improperly  used 
for  bade,  the  preterit  of  the  word  bid,  and  sate  for  sat,  the  pre- 
terit of  sit.  The  only  proper  use  of  the  word  bad  is  as  a 
synonyma  for  ill ;  and  to  sate  is  the  same  in  signification  as 
to  glut. 

The  word  genii  hath  by  some  writers  been  erroneously 
adopted  for  geniuses.  Each  is  a  plural  of  the  same  word  ge- 
nius, but  in  different  senses.  When  genius  in  the  singular 
means  a  separate  spirit  or  demon,  good  or  bad,  the  plural  is 
genii;  when  it  denotes  mental  abilities,  or  a  person  eminent- 
ly possessed  of  these,  the  plural  is  geniuses.  There  are  some 
similar  instances  in  our  tongue  of  different  plurals  belonging 
to  the  same  singular  in  different  significations.  The  word 
brother  is  one.  The  plural  in  modern  language,  when  used 
literally  for  male  children  of  the  same  parent  or  parents,  is 
brothers ;  when  used  figuratively  for  people  of  the  same  pro- 
fession, nation,  religion,  or  people  considered  as  related  by 
sharing  jointly  in  the  same  human  nature,  is  brethren.  An- 
ciently this  last  term  was  the  only  plural. 

I  shall  next  specify  improprieties  arising  from  a  similitude 
in  sense,  into  which  writers  of  considerable  reputation  have 
sometimes  falleti.  Veracity  you  will  find,  even  among  such, 
applied  to  things,  and  used  for  reality ;  whereas,  in  strict  pro- 
priety, the  word  is  only  applicable  to  persons,  and  signifies 
not  physical,  but  moral  truth. 

"There  is  no  sort  of  joy,"  says  Dr.  Burnet,*  "more  grate- 
ful to  the  mind  of  man  than  that  which  ariseth  from  the  »>». 

»  Theory  of  the  Earth,  b.  i.,  ch.  i 


216  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

venlion  of  truth."  For  invention  he  ought  to  have  said  dis- 
covery. 

Eptlhet  hatli  been  used  corruptly  to  denote  title  or  appella- 
tinn,  whereas  it  only  signifies  some  attribute  expressed  by  an 
adjective. 

In  the  same  way,  verdict  hath  been  made  to  usurp  the  place 
oi  testimony  ;  and  the  word  risible  IvM^x  ol"  late  been  perverted 
from  its  original  sense,  which  is  capable  of  laughing,  to  denote 
ridiculous,  laughable,  ov  fit  to  be  laughed  at.  Hence  these  new- 
frangled  phrases  risible  jests  and  risible  absurdities.  The 
proper  discrimination  between  risible  and  ridiculous  is,  that 
the  former  bath  an  active,  the  latter  a  passive  signification. 
Thus  we  say,  "  Man  is  a  risible  animal" — "  A  fop  is  a  ridicu- 
lous character."  To  substitute  the  former  instead  of  the  lat- 
ter, and  say  "  A  fop  is  a  risible  character,"  is,  I  suspect,  no 
better  English  than  to  substitute  the  latter  instead  of  the  for- 
mer, and  say  "  Man  is  a  ridiculous  animal."  In  confirmation 
of  this  distinction,  it  may  be  fartlier  remarked,  that  the  ab- 
stract risibility,  which  analogically  ought  to  determine  the 
import  of  the  concrete,  is  still  limited  to  its  original  and  ac- 
tive sense,  the  faculty  of  laughter.  Where  our  language  hath 
provided  us  with  distinct  names  for  the  active  verbal  and 
the  passive,  as  no  distinction  is  more  useful  for  preventing 
ambiguity,  so  no  distinction  ought  to  be  more  sacredly  ob- 
served. 

But  to  proceed  :  the  word  together  often  supplies  the  place 
of  successively,  sometimes  awkwardly  enough,  as  in  the  fol- 
lowing sentence :  "  I  do  not  remember  that  I  ever  spoke 
three  sentences  together  in  my  whole  life."*  The  resem- 
blaiice  which  continuity  in  time  bears  to  continuity  in  place 
is  the  source  of  this  impropriety,  which,  by-the-way,  is  be- 
come so  frequent,  that  I  am  doubtful  whether  it  ought  to  be 
included  in  the  numlier.  Yet,  should  this  application  gen- 
erally obtain,  it  would,  by  confounding  things  difFereat,  oft- 
en occasion  ambiguity.  If,  for  example,  one  should  say 
"  Charles,  William,  and  David  live  together  in  the  same 
house,"  in  order  to  denote  that  William  immediately  suc- 
ceeded Charles,  and  David  succeeded  William,  every  one 
would  be  sensible  of  the  impropriety.  But  if  such  a  use  of 
the  word  be  improper  in  one  case,  it  is  so  in  every  case. 

By  an  error  not  unlike,  the  word  everlasting  hath  been  em- 
ployed to  denote  time  without  beginning,  though  the  only 
proper  sense  of  it  be  time  without  end :  as  in  these  words, 
"  From  everlasting  to  everlasting  thou  art  God."t  It  may 
farther  be  remarked  of  this  term,  that  tlie  true  meaning  is  so 
strongly  marked  in  its  composition,  that  very  frequent  use 
will  not  be  sufficient  to  prevent  tlie  misapplication  from  ap- 

•  Spect.,  No.  1.  f  Pa.  xc,  2. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  217 

pearing  awkward.  I  think,  besides,  that  there  is  a  want  of 
correctness  in  using  the  word  substantively.  The  proper  ex- 
pression is,  "  From  eternity  to  eternity  thou  art  God." 

Apparent  for  certain,  manifest  (as  it  has  been  sometimes 
employed  by  a  very  eminent  author,  the  late  Lord  Littleton), 
is  often  equivocal,  and  can  hardly  ever  be  accounted  entirely 
proper.  Both  etymology  and  the  most  frequent  use  lead  us 
so  directly  to  the  signification  seeming  as  opposed  to  i-eal,  or 
visible  as  opposed  to  concealed,  that  at  first  we  are  always  in 
hazard  of  mistaking  it.  For  the  same  reason,  I  do  not  like 
the  phrase  to  make  appear  (though  a  very  common  one)  for  to 
prove,  to  evince,  to  shoio.  By  the  aid  of  sophistry  a  man  may 
make  a  thing  appear  to  be  what  it  is  not.  This  is  very  differ- 
ent from  showing  what  it  is,.  ,„—  --'_:^   -^v,.^^ 

Abundance,  in  the  following  quotation,  is^^  imagine,  im- 
properly used  for  a  great  deal.  "  I  will  only  mention  that 
passage  of  the  buskins,  which  after  abundance  of  persuasion, 
you  woul4  hardly  suffer  to  be  cut  from  your  legs."* 

The  word  due,  in  thB..  ettrttlon  subjoined,  is  not  only  im- 
properly, but  preposterously  employed.  "  What  right  the 
first  observers  of  nature  and  instructers  of  mankind  had  to 
the  title  of  sages,  we  cannot  say.  It  was  due,  perhaps,  more 
to  the  ignorance  of  the  scholars  than  to  the  knowledge  of 
the  masters."!  The  author  hath  doubtless  adopted  the  word 
due  in  this  place  as  preferable,  at  least,  to  the  word  owing, 
which,  though  an  active  participle,  is  frequently,  and,  as  some 
think,  inaccurately  employed  in  a  passive  sense.  Thus,  in 
order  to  avoid  a  latent  error,  if  it  be  an  error,  he  hath  run 
into  a  palpable  absurdity ;  for  what  can  be  more  absurd  than 
to  say  that  the  title  of  sages  is  due  more  to  ignorance  than 
to  knowledge !  It  had  been  better  to  give  the  sentence  an- 
other turn,  and  to  say,  "  It  took  its  rise,  perhaps,  more  from 
the  ignorance  of  the  scholars  than  from  the  knowledge  of 
the  masters." 

I  shall  add  the  improper  use  of  the  word  surfeit  in  the  fol- 
lowing quotation  from  Anson's  Voyage  round  the  World : 
"  We  thought  it  prudent  totally  to  abstain  from  fish,  the  few 
we  caught  at  our  first  arrival  having  surfeited  those  who  ate 
of  thera."t  I  sliould  not  have  mentioned — indeed,  I  should 
not  have  discovered — this  impropriety  in  that  excellent  per- 
formance, which  would  have  passed  with  me  for  an  expres- 
sion somewhat  indefinite,  had  it  not  been  for  the  following 
passage  in  a  late  publication :  "  Several  of  our  people  were 
so  much  disordered  by  eating  of  a  very  fine-looking  fish, 
which  we  caught  here,  that  their  recovery  was  for  a  long 
time  doubtful.     The  author  of  the  account  of  Lord  Anson'.s 

*  Swift's  Examiner,  No.  27.  t  Bolinb.  Phil.,  Es.  ii.,  sect.  L 

J  Anson's  Voyage,  b.  iii.,  c.  ii. 


218  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

Voyage  says,  that  the  people  on  board  the  Centurion  though* 
it  prudent  to  abstain  from  fish,  as  the  few  wliich  they  caught 
at  their  first  arrival  surfeited  those  who  ate  of  them.  But 
not  attending  sufficiently  to  this  caption,  and  too  hastily  ta- 
king the  word  surfeit  in  its  literal  and  common  acceptation, 
we  imagined  that  those  who  tasted  the  fish  when  Lord  An- 
son first  came  hither,  were  made  sick  merely  by  eating  too 
much ;  whereas,  if  that  had  been  the  case,  there  would  have 
been  no  reason  for  totally  abstaining,  but  only  eating  tern 
perately.  We,  however,  bought  our  knowledge  by  expe 
rience,  which  we  might  have  had  cheaper ;  for,  though  all 
our  people  who  tasted  this  fish  ate  sparingly,  they  were  all, 
soon  afterward,  dangerously  ill."*  I  have  given  this  passage 
entire,  chiefly  because  it  serves  to  show  both  that  an  inac- 
curacy apparently  trifling  may.  by  misleading  the  reader,  be 
productive  of  very  bad  consequences,  and  that  those  remarks 
which  tend  to  add  precision  and  perspicuity  to  our  language 
are  not  of  so  little  moment  as  some,  who  have  not  duly  con- 
sidered the  subject,  would  affect  to  represent  them. 

To  this  class  we  may  reduce  the  idiotism,  or  the  employing 
of  an  English  word  in  a  sense  which  it  bears  in  some  provin- 
cial dialect,  in  low  and  partial  use,  or  which,  perhaps,  the  cor- 
responding word  bears  in  some  foreign  tongue,  but  junsup- 
ported  by  general  use  in  our  own  language.  An  example  of 
this  we  have  in  the  word  imp7-acticable,  when  it  is  used  for  im- 

?assable,  and  applied  to  roads  ;  an  application  which  suits  the 
"rench  idiom,  but  not  the  English.  Of  the  same  kind  are  the 
following  Gallicisms  of  Bolingbroke  :  "  All  this  was  done  at 
the  time,  on  the  occasion,  and  by  the  persons  I  intend  ;''''\ 
properly,  mean.  "  When  we  learn  the  names  of  complex 
ideas  and  notions,  we  should  accustom  the  mind  to  decom- 
pound them,  that  we  may  verify  them,  and  so  make  them  our 
own,  as  well  as  to  learn  to  compound  others. "J  Decompound 
he  hath  used  here  for  anahjze,  misled  by  the  meaning  of  the 
French  word  decomposer,  which  is  not  only  different  from  the 
sense  of  the  English  word,  but  contrary  to  it.  To  decompound 
is  to  compound  of  materials  already  compounded. 

The  use  made  of  the  verb  arrive  in  the  subsequent  passage 
in  also  exceptionable  in  the  same  way :  "  I  am  a  man,  and 
«>Hnnot  help  feeling  any  sorrow  that  can  arrive  at  inan."^  In 
English  it  should  be  "  happen  to  man." 

To  hold,  signifying  to  use,  and  applied  to  language  ;  to  give 
into,  signifying  to  adopt,  in  the  figurative  sense  of  that  word, 
are  other  expressions  frequently  employed  by  this  author, 
and  of  late  by  several  others,  v/hich  fall  under  the  same  cen- 
sure. Even  our  celebrated  translator  of  the  Iliad  hath  not 
been  clear  of  this  charge.   Witness  the  title  he  hath  given  to 

♦  Byron's  V^oyage,  chap.  xi.  t  Of  the  State  of  Parties. 

X  Phil.,  Es.  i.,  sect  iv.  ^  Spectator,  No.  502,  T. 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OP  RHETORIC.        219 

a  small  dissertation  prefixed  to  that  work.  "  A  view,"  he 
calls  it,  "  of  ihe  epic  poem,"  in  which  short  title  there  are  two 
improprieties.  First,  the  word  poem,  which  always  denotes 
with  us  a  particular  performance,  is  here  used,  agreeably  to 
the  French  idiom,  for  poetri/  in  general,  or  the  art  which  char- 
acterizes the  performance  ;  secondly,  the  definite  article  the 
is  employed,  which,  though  it  be  always  given  to  abstracts  in 
French,  is  never  so  applied  in  English,  unless  with  a  view  to 
appropriate  them  to  some  subject.  And  this,  hy-the-way, 
renders  the  article  with  us  more  determinative  than  it  is  in 
French,  or  perhaps  in  any  other  tongue.*  Accordingly,  on 
the  first  hearing  of  the  title  above  mentioned,  there  is  no 
English  reader  who  would  not  suppose  that  it  were  a  critical 
tract  on  some  particular  epic  poem,  and  not  on  that  species 
of  poesy. 

Another  error  of  the  same  kind  is  the  Latinism.  Of  this, 
indeed,  the  examples  are  not  so  frequent.  Foppery  is  a  sort 
of  folly  much  more  contagious  than  pedantry  ;  but  as  they 
result  alike  from  affectation,  they  deserve  alike  to  be  proscri- 
bed. An  instance  of  the  latter  is  the  word  affection,  when 
applied  to  things  inanimate,  and  signifying  the  state  of  being 
afifected  by  any  cause.  Another  instance  is  the  word  inleg- 
rily,  when  used  for  entireness.  But  here  I  think  a  distinction 
ought  to  be  made  between  the  familiar  style  and  that  of  phil- 
osophical disquisition.  In  the  latter  it  will  be  reasonable  to 
allow  a  greater  latitude,  especially  iti  cases  wherein  there 
may  be  a  penury  of  proper  terms,  and  wherein,  without  such 
indulgence,  there  would  be  a  necessity  of  recurring  too  often 
to  periphrasis.  But  the  less,  even  here,  this  liberty  is  used, 
it  is  the  better. 

To  these  properly  succeeds  that  sort  of  the  vulgansni.f  in 
which  only  a  low  and  partial  use  can  be  pleaded  in  support 
of  the  application  that  is  made  of  a  particular  word.  Of  this 
you  have  an  example  in  the  following  quotation  :  "  'Tis  my 
humble  request  you  will  be  particular  in  speaking  lo  the  fol- 
lowing points."!  The  preposition  ought  to  have  been  07i. 
Precisely  of  the  same  stamp  is  the  onH  for  of  it,  so  much  used 
by  one  class  of  writers.  The  pronoun  il  is,  by  a  like  idiom, 
made  sometimes  to  follow  neuter  verbs,  as  in  the  following 
passage  :  "  He  is  an  assertor  of  liberty  and  property  ;  he  rat- 
lies  it  out  against  popery  and  arbitrary  power,  and  priest- 
craft, and  high  church."^ 

*  Accordingly,  Bossu  hath  styled  his  performance  on  the  same  subject, 
Traite  du  Pohne  Epiquc.  It  is  this  title,  I  suppose,  which  hath  misled  the 
English  poet. 

+  I  say  that  sort  of  the  vulgarism,  because,  when  the  word  is  in  no  ac- 
ceptation in  good  use,  it  is  a  sort  that  partakes  of  the  barbarism  ;  but  when 
a  particular  application  of  a  good  word  is  current  only  among  the  lowei 
classes,  il  belongs  to  the  impropriety.  %  Guardian,  No.  ft"* 

i)  Swift's  Project  for  the  Advancement  of  Religion. 


220  THE    PHILOSOPHl    OF    RHETORIC. 

The  auxiliaries  should,  should  have,  and  should  be,  are  some- 
times used  in  the  same  improper  manner.  I  am  not  sensible 
of  the  elegance  which  Dr.  Priestley  seems  to  have  discover- 
ed in  the  expression,  "  The  general  report  is  that  he  should 
have  said'''  for  "that  he  said."  It  appears  to  me  not  only  as 
an  idiomatical  expression,  but  as  chargeable  both  with  pleo- 
nasm and  with  ambiguity  ;  for  what  a  man  said  is  often  very 
different  from  Avhat  he  should  liave  said. 

I  shall  finish  all  that  I  propose  to  offer  on  the  idiotism  when 
I  have  observed  that  these  remarks  are  not  to  be  extended 
to  the  precincts  of  satire  and  burlesque.  There,  indeed,  a 
vulgar,  or  even  what  is  called  a  cant  expression,  will  some- 
times be  more  emphatical  than  any  proper  term  whatsoever. 
The  satirist  may  plead  his  privilege.  For  this  reason,  the 
following  lines  are  not  to  be  considered  as  falling  under  this 
criticism : 

"  'VVTiether  the  charmer  sinner  it  or  saint  it, 
If  folly  grows  romantic,  I  must  paint  it."'' 

It  remains  to  give  some  instances  wherein  sound  and  sense 
both  concur  in  misleading  us.  Of  this  the  word  enough  is  an 
example,  which  is  frequently  confounded  with  c7ioiv,  and  used 
for  it.  Both  denote  sufficiency,  the  former  in  quantity  or  in 
degrees  of  quality,  the  latter  in  number.  Thus  we  say  prop- 
erly, "  We  have  courage  enough  and  ammunition  enough,  l)Ut 
we  have  not  men  enow.'''' 

The  derivatives  falseness,  falsity,  falsehood,  from  the  root 
false,  are  often,  by  mistake,  employed  for  one  another,  though 
in  the  best  use  they  are  evidently  distinguished.  The  first 
falseness,  is  properly  used  in  a  moral  sense  for  want  of  vera- 
city, and  applied  only  to  persons  ;  the  other  two  are  applied 
only  to  things.  Falsity  denotes  that  quality  in  the  abstract 
which  may  be  defined  contrariety  to  truth.  Falsehood  is  an 
untrue  assertion.  The  word  negligence  is  improperly  used 
in  the  following  passage  :  "  The  ncgUgeiice  of  this  leaves  us 
exposed  to  an  uncommon  levity  in  our  usual  conversation. "f 
He  ought  to  have  said  neglect.  The  former  implies  the  habit, 
the  latter  denotes  the  act — perhaps  in  this  case  I  should  sry 
the  instance ;  for  an  act  of  a  habit  of  not  doing  hath  itsei^ 
the  appearance  of  impropriety. 

Precisely  of  the  same  kind  is  the  misapplication  of  the 
word  conscience  in  this  quotation :  "  The  conscience  of  appro- 
ving one's  self  a  benefactor  to  mankind,  is  the  noblest  rec- 
ompense for  being  so. "J  Properly,  the  consciousness;  the 
former  denotes  the  faculty,  the  latter  a  particular  exertion. 

This  impropriety  is  reversed  in  the  citation  following  :  "  I 
apprehend  that  all  the  sophism  which  has  been  or  can  be  em- 
ployed, will  not  be  sufficient  to  acquit  this  system  at  the  tri- 

*  Pope.  t  Spect.,  No.  76.  t  Spect.,  No.  58^ 


THE    PHILOSOrHY    OF    RHETORIC.  221 

bunal  of  reason."*  For  sophism  he  should  have  said  sophistry , 
this  denotes  fallacious  reasoning,  that  only  a  fallacious  argu- 
ment. This  error  is  of  the  same  kind  with  poem  for  poetry, 
which  was  remarked  above. 

Sometimes  the  neuter  verb  is  mistaken  for  the  active. 
"What  TuUy  says  of  war  may  be  applied  to  disputing;  it 
should  be  always  so  managed  as  to  remember  that  the  only 
end  of  it  is  peace. "f     Properly,  remind  its. 

Sometimes,  again,  the  active  verb  is  mistaken  for  the  neu- 
ter. "  I  may  say,  without  vanity,  that  there  is  not  a  gentle- 
man in  England  better  read  in  tombstones  than  myself,  my 
studies  having  laid  very  nnich  in  churchyards. "|  Properly, 
lien  or  lain.  The  active  verb  lay,  for  the  neuter  lie,  is  so  fre- 
quently to  be  met  with  in  some  very  modern  compositions, 
as  to  give  room  for  suspecting  that  it  is  an  idiom  of  the  cock- 
ney language,  or  of  some  provincial  dialect.  In  that  case  it 
might  have  been  classed  under  the  idiotism. 

Perhaps  under  the  same  predicament  ought  also  to  be 
ranked  the  word  plenty,  used  adjectively  for  plentiful,  which 
indeed  appears  to  me  so  gross  a  vulgarism,  that  I  should  not 
have  thought  it  worthy  a  place  here  if  I  had  not  sometimes 
found  it  in  works  of  considerable  merit.  The  relative  whom, 
in  the  following  quotation,  is  improperly  used  for  which,  the 
former  always  regarding  persons,  the  latter  always  things : 
"  The  exercise  of  reason  appears  as,  little  in  them  as  in  the 
beasts  they  sometimes  hunt,  and  by  tti/iom  they  are  sometimes 
hunted."«J 

I  shall  add  but  two  instances  more  of  impropriety  in  single 
words,  instances  which  1  have  reserved  for  this  place,  as  be- 
ing somewhat  peculiar,  and,  therefore,  not  strictly  reducible 
to  any  of  the  classes  above  mentioned;  instances,  too,  from 
authors  of  such  eminence  in  respect  of  style,  as  may  fully 
convince  us,  if  we  are  not  already  convinced,  that  infallibili- 
ty is  not  more  attainable  here  than  in  other  articles.  "  As  I 
firmly  believe  the  divine  precept  delivered  by  the  Author  of 
Christianity,  there  is  not  a  sparrow  falls  to  the  ground  without 
my  Father,  and  cannot  admit  the  agency  of  chance  in  the 
government  of  the  world,  I  must  necessarily  refer  every 
event  to  one  cause,  as  well  the  danger  as  the  escape,  as  well 
the  sufferings  as  the  enjoyments  of  life'."|j  There  is  very 
little  affinity,  either  in  sense  or  in  sound,  between  precept  and 
doctrine;  and  nothing  but  an  oscitancy,  from  which  no  writer 
whatever  is  uniformly  exempted,  can  account  for  so  odd  a 
misapplication  of  a  familiar  term.  The  words  in  connexion 
might  have  shown  the  error.     It  is  the  doctrines  of  our  reli- 

•  Bol.  Ph.  Fr.,  20.  +  Pope's  Thoughts  on  various  Suhjecls. 

t  Spect.,  No.  518.  <j  Bohnb.  Ph.,  Es.  ii.,  sect.  ii. 

II  General  Introduction  to  the  Account  of  the  V'oyages  of  Commodore 
Byron,  &c.,  by  Hawkesworth. 

T2 


222  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

gion  that  we  are  required  to  believe,  and  the  'precepts  that  we 
are  required  to  obey.  The  other  example  is,  "Their  success 
may  be  compared  to  that  of  a  certain  prince,  who  placed,  it 
is  said,  cats  and  other  animals,  adored  by  the  Egyptians,  in 
the  front  of  his  army  when  he  invaded  that  people.  A  rev- 
erence for  these  phantoms  made  the  Egyptians  lay  down  their 
arms,  and  become  an  easy  conquest."*  What  the  author 
here  intended  to  say  it  is  hard  to  conjecture ;  but  it  is  un- 
questionable that  in  no  sense  whatever  can  cats  and  other 
animals  be  called  phantoms. 

I  shall  now,  before  I  proceed  to  consider  impropriety  as  it 
appears  in  phrases,  make  a  i&w  reflections  on  Those  princi- 
ples which  most  frequently  betray  authors  into  such  misap- 
plications in  the  use  of  single  words.  As  to  that  which  hath 
been  denominated  the  vulgarism,  \\s  genuine  source  seems  to 
be  the  aftectation  of  an  easy,  familiar,  and  careless  manner. 
The  writers  who  abound  in  this  idiom  generally  imagine  that 
their  style  must  appear  the  more  natural  the  less  pains  they 
bestow  upon  it.  Addison  hath  exactly  hit  their  notion  of 
easy  writing.  "  It  is,"  says  he,  "  what  any  man  may  easily 
write."  But  these  people,  it  would  seem,  need  to  be  in- 
formed that  ease  is  one  thing,  and  carelessness  is  another  ; 
nay,  that  these  two  are  so  widely  different,  that  the  former 
is  most  commonly  the  result  of  the  greatest  care.  It  is  like 
ease  in  motion,  which,  though  originally  the  effect  of  disci- 
pline, when  once  it  hath  become  habitual,  has  a  more  simple 
and  more  natural  appearance  than  is  to  be  observed  in  any 
manner  which  untutored  Nature  can  produce.  This  senti- 
ment is  well  expressed  by  the  poet : 

"  Bvit  ease  in  writing  flows  from  art,  not  chance, 
As  those  move  easiest  who  have  learned  to  dance." f 

True  ease  in  composition,  accompanied  with  purity,  d 
as  much  from  that  homely  manner  which  affects  the  famili- 
arity of  low  phrases  and  vulgar  idioms,  as  the  appearance  of 
a  woman  that  is  plainly  but  neatly  dressed  differs  from  that 
of  a  slattern.  But  this  affectation  is  to  be  considered  as  the 
spring  of  one  species  of  impropi-iety  only. 

All  the  rest,  unless  when  chargeable  on  inadvertency,  as 
they  sometimes  doubtless  are,  seem  naturall}'  to  flow  from 
one  or  other  of  these  two  sources,  which  are  almost  diamet- 
rically opposite  to  the  former.  One  is,  the  love  of  novelty  ; 
the  other,  a  fondness  for  variety.  The  former,  when  exces- 
sive, tends  directly  to  misguide  us,  by  making  us  disdain  the 
beaten  track,  for  no  other  reason  but  because  it  is  tlie  beaten 
track.  The  ideaof  vulgarity  in  the  imaginations  of  those  who 
are  affected  by  this  principle  is  connected  with  everything  that 

*  Bolinb.  I'h.,  Es.  iv.,  sect.  i.  t  Pope's  hnitatio.ia 


THE    PHILOSOl'IIY    OF    RHETORIC.  223 

IS  conceived  as  customary.  The  genuine  issue  of  this  ex- 
treme, much  worse,  I  acknowledge,  than  the  former,  is  not 
only  improprieties,  but  even  absurdities,  and  fustian,  and 
bombast.  The  latter,  to  wit,  a  fondness  for  variety,  produ- 
ceth  often  the  same  effect,  though  more  indirectly.  It  begets 
an  immoderate  dread  of  becoming  tedious,  by  repeating  too 
frequently  the  same  sound.  In  order  to  avoid  this,  a  writer 
resolves  at  any  rate  to  diversify  his  style,  let  it  cost  what  it 
will ;  and,  indeed,  tliis  fancied  excellence  usually  costs  more 
than  it  is  worth.  Very  often  propriety  and  perspicuity  both 
are  sacrificed  to  it. 

It  is  justly  observed  by  Abbe  Girard,*  that  when  a  per- 
formance grows  dull  througli  an  excess  of  uniformity,  it  is 
not  so  much  because  the  ear  is  tired  by  the  frequent  repeti- 
tion of  the  same  sound,  as  because  the  mind  is  fatigued  by 
the  frequent  recurrence  of  the  same  idea.  If,  therefore,  there 
be  a  remarkable  paucity  of  ideas,  a  diversity  of  words  will 
not  answer  the  purpose,  or  give  to  the  work  the  agreeable 
appearance  of  variety.  On  tlie  contrary,  when  an  author  is 
at  great  pains  to  vary  his  expressions,  and  for  this  purpose 
even  deserts  the  common  road,  he  will,  to  an  intelligent  read- 
er, but  the  more  expose  his  poverty  the  more  he  is  solicitoua 
to  conceal  it.  And,  indeed,  what  can  more  effectually  betray 
a  penury  of  words  than  to  be  always  recurring  to  such  as 
custom  hath  appropriated  to  purposes  different  from  those 
for  which  we  use  them^  Would  the  glitter  of  jewels  which 
we  know  to  be  stolen  produce  an  opinion  of  the  wearer's 
affluence  \  And  must  not  such  alienations  of  words,  if  I  may 
be  allowed  the  metaphor,  awaken  a  suspicion  of  some  origi- 
nal defects  which  have  given  occasion  to  them  !  We  should 
hardly  say  that  a  house  were  richly  furnished,  I  am  sure  we 
could  not  say  that  it  were  well  furnished,  where  we  found 
a  superfluity  of  utensils  for  answering  some  purposes,  and  a 
total  want  of  those  adapted  to  other  purposes  not  less  neces- 
sary and  important.  We  should  think,  on  the  contrary,  tliat 
there  were  much  greater  appearance  both  of  opulence  and 
taste,  where,  though  there  were  little  or  nothing  superfluous, 
no  vessel  or  piece  of  furniture  useful  in  a  family  were  want- 
ing. When  one  is  obliged  to  make  some  utensil  supply  pur- 
poses to  which  they  were  not  originally  destined — when,  for 
instance,  "  the  copper  pot  boils  milk,  heats  porridge,  holds 
small  beer,  and,  in  case  of  necessity,  serves  for  a  jorden"! — 
there  are  always,  it  must  be  confessed,  the  strongest  indica- 
tions of  indigence.  On  the  contrary,  when  every  real  use 
hath  some  instrument  or  utensil  adapted  to  it,  there  is  the 
appearance,  if  not  of  profusion,  of  what  is  much  more  valua- 
ble, plenty. 

•  Synonymes  Francois,  Preface.  t  Swift. 


224  THE    rHILUSC)!'HV    OV    RHETORIC. 

In  a  language  there  may  be  great  redundancies,  and,  at  the 
same- time,  great  defects.  It  is  infinitely  less  important  to 
have  a  number  of  synonymous  words,  which  are  even  some 
times  cumbersome,  than  to  have  very  few  tliat  can  be  called 
homonymous,  and,  consequently,  to  have  all  the  differences 
which  there  are  in  things,  as  much  as  possible,  marked  by 
corresponding  differences  in  their  signs.  That  this  should 
be  perfectly  attained,  I  own  is  impossible.  The  vai-ieties  in 
things  are  infinite,  whereas  the  richest  language  hath  its 
limits.  Indeed,  the  more  a  people  improve  in  taste  and 
knowledge,  they  come  the  more,  though  by  imperceptible 
degrees,  to  make  distinctions  in  the  apphcation  of  words 
which  were  used  promiscuously  before.  And  it  is  by  thus 
marking  the  delicate  differences  of  things,  v.'hich  in  a  ruder 
state  they  overlooked,  more  than  by  any  other  means,  that 
their  language  is  refined  and  polished.  Hence  it  acquires 
precision,  perspicuity,  vivacity,  energy.  It  would  be  no  dif- 
ficult task  to  evince,  as  partly  it  may  be  collected  from  what 
hath  been  observed  already,  that  our  own  language  hath  from 
this  source  received  greater  improvements  in  the  course  of 
the  last  century  and  of  the  present,  than  from  the  accession 
of  new  words,  or  perhaps  from  any  other  cause.  Nothing 
then,  surely,  can  serve  more  to  corrupt  it  than  to  overturn 
the  barriers  use  hath  erected,  by  confounding  words  as  sy- 
nonymous to  which  distinct  significations  have  been  assign- 
ed. This  conduct  is  as  bad  policy  with  regard  to  style  as  it 
would  be  with  regard  to  land,  to  convert  a  great  part  of  the 
property  into  a  common.  On  the  contrary,  as  it  conduceth 
to  the  advancement  of  agriculture  and  to  the  increase  of  the 
annual  produce  of  a  country  to  divide  the  commons  and  turn 
them  into  property,  a  similar  conduct  in  the  appropriation  of 
words  renders  a  language  more  useful  and  expressive. 

Part  II.  Impropriety  in  Phrases. 

I  come  now  to  consider  the  improprieties  which  occur  in 
phrases.  The  first  of  this  kind  of  which  I  shall  take  notice 
is  when  the  expression,  on  being  grammatically  analyzed,  is 
discovered  to  contain  some  inconsistency.  Such  is  the 
phrase  of  all  others  after  the  superlative,  common  with  many 
English  writers.  Interpreted  by  the  rules  of  syntax,  it  im- 
plies that  a  thing  is  different  from  itself.  Take  these  words 
for  an  example  :  "  It  celebrates  the  Church  of  England  as  the 
most  perfect  of  all  others.'''"^  Properly,  either  "  as  more  per- 
fect than  any  other,"  or  "  as  the  most  perfect  of  all  church- 
es." This  is  precisely  the  same  sort  of  impropriety  iato 
which  Milton  hath  fallen  in  these  words  : 

*  Swift's  Apology  for  the  Tale  of  a  Tub. 


THE  piiiLosoriiY  or  uiinTouic.  225 

"  Adam, 
The  cornel  iest  man  of  men,  since  born 
His  sons.     The  fairest  of  her  daughters  Eve.'"* 

And  in  these : 

"  The  loveliest  pair 
That  ever  since  in  love's  embraces  met."t 

Use,  indeed,  may  be  pleaded  for  such  expressions,  which,  it 
must  be  acknowledged,  use  hath  rendered  intelHgible.  But 
still  the  general  laws  of  the  language,  which  constitute  the 
most  extensive  and  important  use,  may  be  pleaded  against 
them.  Now  it  is  one  principal  mcLhod  of  purifying  a  language 
to  lay  aside  such  idioms  as  are  inconsistent  with  its  radical 
principles  and  constituent  rule,  or  as,  when  interpreted  by 
such  principles  and  rules,  exhibit  manifest  nonsense.  Nor 
does  the  least  inconvenience  result  from  this  conduct,  as  we 
can  be  at  no  loss  to  find  expressions  of  our  meaning  alto- 
gether as  natural  and  entirely  unexceptionable. 

Sometimes,  indeed,  through  mere  inattention,  slips  of  this 
kind  are  committed,  as  in  tlie  following  instance  :  "  I  do  not 
reckon  that  we  want  a  genius  more  than  the  rest  of  our  neigh- 
bours."! The  impropriety  here  is  corrected  by  omitluig  the 
words  in  italics. 

Another  oversight,  of  much  the  same  kind,  and  by  the  same 
author,  we  have  in  the  following  passage :  "  I  had  like  to 
have  gotten  one  or  two  broken  heads  for  my  impertinence."^ 
This  unavoidably  suggests  the  question.  How  many  heads 
was  he  possessed  of?  Properly,  "  I  was  once  or  twice  like 
to  have  gotten  my  head  broken." 

Another  from  the  same  work,  being  a  passage  formerly 
quoted  for  another  purpose,  is  this :  "  The  first  project  was 
to  shorten  discourse  by  cutting  polysyllables  into  one."||  One 
thing  may  be  cut  into  two  or  more  ;  but  it  is  inconceivable 
that,  by  cutting,  two  or  more  things  should  be  made  one. 

Another,  still  from  the  same  hand :  "  I  solemnly  declare 
that  I  have  not  loilfully  committed  the  least  mistake. ^'^  The 
words  used  here  are  incompatible.  A  wrong  wilfully  com- 
mitted is  no  mistake. 

Addison  hath  fallen  into  an  inaccuracy  of  the  same  kind 
in  the  following  lines  : 

"  So  the  ■pure  limpid  stream,  when /ouZ  with  stains 
Of  ruslung  torrents  and  descending  rains."** 

A  stream  may  doubtless  be  at  one  time  limpid  and  at  another 
foul,  which  is  all  that  the  author  meant ;  but  we  cannot  prop- 
erly call  it  a  pure  limpid  stream  when  it  is  foul  with  stains. 

*  Paradise  Lost.  t  lb.,  b.  iv. 

t  Swift's  Proposal  for  ascertaining  the  English  Tongue. 

()  Voyage  to  Brobdignag.  II  Voyage  to  Laputa. 

ir  Remarks  on  the  Barrier  Treaty.  **  Cato. 


226  THE  rniLosopiiy  of  khktoiuc. 

So  much  for  those  improprieties  which  involve  in  them  somo 
absurdity. 

I  sliall  next  ilhistrate  those  by  which  an  author  is  made  to 
Bay  one  thing  when  he  means  anotlier.  Of  this  kind  I  shall 
produce  only  one  example  at  present,  as  I  shall  have  occa- 
sion afterward  of  considering  the  same  fault  under  the  arti- 
cle of  perspicuity.  "  I  will  instance  in  one  opinion,  which  I 
look  upon  every  man  obliged  in  conscience  to  quit,  or  ir 
prudence  to  conceal ;  I  mean,  that  whoever  argues  in  de 
fence  of  absolute  power  in  a  single  person,  though  he  offers 
tiie  old  plausible  plea  that  it  is  his  opinion,  which  he  cannot 
help  unless  he  be  convinced,  ought,  in  all  free  states,  to  be 
treated  as  the  common  enemy  of  mankind.'**  From  the 
scope  of  the  discourse,  it  is  evident  he  means,  that  whoever 
hath  it  for  his  opmion  that  a  single  person  is  entitled  to  ab- 
solute authority,  ought  to  quit  or  conceal  that  opinion ;  be- 
cause otherwise  he  will,  in  a  free  state,  deserve  to  be  treat- 
ed as  a  common  enemy  ;  whereas,  if  he  says  anything,  he 
says  that  whoever  thinks  that  the  advocates  for  absolute 
power  ought  to  be  treated  as  comnlon  enemies,  is  obliged  to 
quit  or  conceal  that  opinion  ;  a  sentiment  very  different  from 
the  former. 

The  only  species  of  impropriety  that  remains  to  be  exem- 
plified is  that  wherein  there  appears  some  slight  incongruity 
in  the  combination  of  the  words,  as  in  the  quotations  follow- 
ing :  "  When  you  fall  into  a  man's  conversation,  the  first  thing 
you  should  consider  is — ."f  Properly,  "  fall  into  conversation 
with  a  man.''''  "  1  wish,  sir,  you  wouid  animadvert  frequently 
on  the  false  taste  the  town  is  in  with  relation  to  plays  as  well 
as  operas."!     Properly,  "  the  false  taste  of  the  town.'''' 

"  The  presence  of  the  Deity,  and  the  care  such  an  august 
Cause  is  to  be  supposed  to  take  about  any  action.'"^  The  impro- 
priety here  is  best  corrected  by  substituting  the  word  Being 
in  the  place  of  cause;  for  though  there  be  nothing  improper 
in  calling  the  Deity  an  august  Cause,  the  author  halh  very 
improperly  connected  with  this  appellative  some  word  total- 
ly unsuitable  ;  for  who  ever  heard  of  a  cause  taking  care  about 
an  action  ? 

I  shall  produce  but  one  other  instance.  "  Neither  implies 
that  there  are  virtuous  habits  and  accomplishments  already 
attained  by  the  possessor,  but  they  certainly  show  an  unpreju- 
diced capacity  towards  them."||  In  the  first  clause  of  this 
sentence  there  is  a  gross  inconsistency  :  we  are  informed  of 
habits  and  accomplishments  that  are  j^'ossessed,  but  not  attain- 
ed;  in  the  second  clause  there  is  a  double  impropriety:  the 
participial  adjective  is  not  suited   to  the  substantive   with 

*  Sentiinents  of  a  Church  of  England  Man.  +  Spectator,  No.  49 

%  lb.,  No.  22.      {)  Pope's  View  of  the  Epic  Poem.     II  Guardian,  No.  34. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC,  227 

which  it  is  construed,  nor  is  the  subsequent  preposition  ex- 
pressive of  the  sense.  Supposing,  tlien,  that  the  won!  pos- 
sessor hath  been  used  inadvertently  for  person,  or  some  other 
general  term,  the  sense  maybe  exhibited  thus  :  "  Neither  im- 
plies that  there  are  virtuous  habits  and  accomplishments  al- 
ready attained  by  this  person,  but  they  certanily  show  that 
his  mind  is  not  prejudiced  against  them,  and  that  it  hath  a 
capacity  of  attaining  them." 

Under  this  head  1  might  consider  that  impropriety  which 
results  from  the  use  of  metaphors  or  other  tropes,  wherein 
the  similitude  to  the  subject,  or  connexion  with  it,  is  loo  re- 
mote ;  also,  that  which  results  from  the  construction  of 
words  with  any  trope,  which  are  not  applicable  in  the  literal 
sense.  The  former  errs  chiefly  against  vivacity,  the  latter 
against  elegance.  Of  the  one,  therefore,  I  shall  have  occa- 
sion to  speak  Avhen  I  consider  the  catachresis,  of  the  other 
when  I  treat  of  mixed  metaphor. 

I  have  now  finished  what  was  intended  on  the  subject  of 
grammatical  purity  ;  the  first,  and,  in  some  respect,  the  most 
essential  of  all  the  virtues  of  elocution.  I  have  illustrated 
the  three  different  ways  in  which  it  may  be  violated  ;  the 
barbarism,  when  the  words  employed  are  not  English ;  the 
solecism,  when  the  construction  is  not  English;  the  impro- 
priety, when  the  meaning  in  which  any  English  word  or 
phrase  is  used  by  a  writer  or  speaker  is  not  the  sense  which 
good  use  hath  assigned  to  it. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

OME  GRAMMATICAL  DOUBTS  IN  REGARD  TO  ENGLISH  CONSTRUC- 
TION STATED  AND  EXAMINED. 

Before  I  dismiss  this  article  altogether,  it  will  not  be  amiss 
to  consider  a  little  some  dubious  points  in  construction,  on 
which  our  critics  appear  not  to  be  agreed. 

One  of  the  most  eminent  of  them  makes  this  remark  upon 
the  neuter  verbs  :  "  A  neuter  verb  cannot  become  a  passive. 
In  a  neuter  verb  the  agent  and  the  object  are  the  same,  and 
cannot  be  separated  even  in  imagination ;  as  in  the  examples 
to  sleep,  to  walk;  but  when  the  verb  is  passive,  one  thing  is 
acted  upon  by  another,  really  or  by  supposition  different  from 
it."*  To  this  is  subjoined  in  the  margin  the  following  note  : 
"That  some  neuter  verbs  take  a  passive  form,  but  without  a 
passive  signification,  has  been  observed  above.  Here  we 
speak  of  their  beeoming  both  in  form  and  signification  pas- 
»  Short  Introduction,  «Sic.     Senteiicfs. 


228         THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  RHETORIC. 

sive,  and  shall  endeavour  farther  to  illustrate  the  rule  by  ex- 
ample. To  split,  like  many  other  English  verbs,  hath  both 
an  active  and  a  neuter  signification ;  according  to  the  former 
we  say,  The  force  of  gunpowder  spIU  the  rock ;  according  to 
the  latter,  the  ship  split  upon  the  rock  ;  and  converting  the 
verb  active  into  a  passive,  we  may  say.  The  rock  was  split 
by  tlie  force  of  gunpowder,  or  tlie  ship  was  split  upon  the 
rock.  But  we  cannot  say  with  any  propriety,  turning  the 
verb  neuter  into  a  passive,  The  rock  was  split  upon  by  the 
ship." 

This  author's  reasoning,  so  far  as  concerns  verbs  properly 
neuter,  is  so  manifestly  just,  that  it  commands  a  full  assent 
from  every  one  that  understands  it.  I  differ  from  him  only 
in  regard  to  the  application.  In  my  apprehension,  what  may 
grammatically  be  named  the  neuter  verbs  are  not  near  so 
numerous  in  our  tongue  as  he  imagines.  I  do  not  enter  into 
the  difference  between  verbs  absolutely  neuter  and  intransi- 
tively active.  I  concur  with  him  in  thinking  that  this  dis- 
tinction holds  more  of  metaphysics  than  of  grammar.  But 
by  verbs  grammatically  neuter  I  mean  such  as  are  not  fol- 
lowed either  by  an  accusative,  or  by  a  preposition  and  a 
noun ;  for  I  take  this  to  be  the  only  grammatical  criterion 
with  us.  Of  this  kind  is  the  simple  and  primitive  verb  to 
laugh;  accordingly,  to  say  he  vjas  laughed  would  be  repug- 
nant alike  to  grammar  and  to  sense.  But  give  this  verb  a 
regimen,  and  say  To  laugh  at,  and  you  alter  its  nature  by 
adding  to  its  signification.  It  were  an  abuse  of  words  to  call 
this  a  neuter,  being  as  truly  a  compound  active  verb  in  Eng- 
lish as  deridere  is  in  Latin,  to  which  it  exactly  corresponds 
in  meaning.  Nor  doth  it  make  any  odds  that  the  preposition 
in  the  one  language  precedes  the  verb,  and  is  conjoined  with 
it,  and  in  the  other  follows  it,  and  is  detached  from  it.  The 
real  union  is  the  same  in  both.  Accordingly,  he  teas  laughed 
at  is  as  evidently  good  English  as  derisusfuit  is  good  Latin. 

Let  us  hear  this  author  himself,  who,  speaking  of  verbs 
compounded  with  a  preposition,  says  expressly,  "  In  Enghsh 
the  preposition  is  more  frequently  placed  after  the  verb,  and 
separate  from  it,  like  an  adverb  ;  in  which  situation  it  is  no 
less  apt  to  affect  the  sense  of  it,  and  to  give  it  a  new  mean- 
ing; and  may  still  be  considered  as  belonging  to  the  verb, 
and  a  part  of  it.  As,  to  cast  is  to  throw  ;  but  to  cast  vp,  or  to 
compute  an  account,  is  quite  a  different  thing :  thus,  to  fall  on, 
to  bear  out,  to  give  over,'''*  &c.  Innumerable  examples  might 
be  produced  to  show  that  such  verbs  have  been  always  used 
as  active  or  transitive  compounds,  call  them  which  you 
please,  and  therefore  as  properly  susceptible  of  the  passive 
voice.  I  shall  produce  only  one  authority,  which,  I  am  per- 
suaded, the  intelligent  reader  will  admit  to  be  a  good  one. 
It  is  no  other  than  this  ingenious  critic  himself,  and  the  pas- 


THE     PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  229 

sage  of  his  vvhicli  I  have  in  view  will  be  found  in  the  very 
quotation  above  made.  "  Wlicn  the  verb  is  passive,  one  things 
IS  acted  upon  by  another."  Here  the  verb  to  act  upon  is  un- 
doubtedly neuter,  if  the  verb  to  split  upon  be  neuter  in  the  ex- 
pression censured ;  and  conversely,  the  verb  to  split  upon  is 
undoubtedly  active,  if  the  verb  to  act  upon  be  active  in  the 
passage  quoted.  Nor  can  anything  be  more  similar  than  the 
construction  :  "  One  thing  is  acted  upon  by  another."  The 
rock  is  split  tipon  by  the  ship. 

After  all,  I  am  sensible  that  the  latter  expression  is  liable 
to  an  exception  which  cannot  be  made  against  the  former. 
I  therefore  agree  with  the  author  in  condemning  it,  but  not 
in  the  reason  of  pronouncing  this  sentence.  The  only  rea- 
son that  weighs  with  me  in  this  :  The  active  sense  of  the 
simple  verb  to  split,  and  the  sense  of  the  compound  to  split 
upon,  are,  in  such  ii  phrase  as  that  above  mentioned,  apt  to  be 
confounded.  Naj^  what  is  more,  the  false  sense  is  that 
which  is  first  suggested  to  the  mind,  as  if  the  rock,  and  not 
the  ship,  had  been  split;  and  though  the  subsequent  words 
remove  the  ambiguity,  yet  the  very  hesitancy  which  it  occa- 
sions renders  the  expression  justly  chargeable,  though  not 
with  solecism,  with  what  is  perhaps  worse,  obscurity  and  in- 
elegance. 

That  we  maybe  satisfied  that  this  and  no  other  is  the  gen- 
uine cause  of  censure,  let  us  borrow  an  example  from  some 
verb,  which  in  the  simple  form  is  properly  unlvocal.  To 
smile  is  such  a  verb,  being  a  neuter,  which,  in  its  primitive 
and  uncompounded  state,  never  receives  au  active  significa- 
tion ;  but  to  smile  on  is  with  us,  according  to  the  definition 
given  above,  a  compound  active  verb,  just  as  arridere*  (to 
which  it  corresponds  alike  in  etymology  and  meaning)  is  in 
Latin.  Accordingly,  we  cannot  say  he  loas  smiled  in  any 
sense.  But  to  say  he  was  smiled  on,/ds  in  the  following  ex- 
ample, "  He  was  smiled  on  by  fortune  in  every  stage  of  life," 
is  entirely  unexceptionable.  Yet  the  only  difference  between 
this  and  the  phrase  above  criticised  ariseth  hence,  that  there 
is  something  ambiguous  in  the  first  appearance  of  the  one 
which  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  other;  and,  indeed,  when  the 
sirople  and  primitive  verb  has  both  an  active  signification  and 
a  neuter  (as  is  the  case  with  the  verb  split),  such  an  ambigu- 
ous appearance  of  the  compound  in  the  passive  is  an  invari- 
able consequence. 

I  shall  observe  farther,  in  order  to  prevent  mistakes  on 
this  subject,  that  there  are  also  in  our  language  compound 

*  I  know  that  the  verb  arideo  is  accounted  neuter  by  Latin  lexicogra- 
phers. The  reason  lies  not  in  the  signification  of  the  word,  but  purely  in  the 
circumstance  that  it  governs  the  dative,  and  not  the  accns.iiiv,'.  But  with 
this  distinction  we  have  no  concern.  That  it  is  active  in  its  unport  is  evi 
dent  from  this,  that  it  is  used  by  good  authors  in  the  passive. 


230  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

neuter  as  well  as  compound  active  verbs.  Such  are  to  go  up, 
to  come  down,  to  fall  out.  These  properly  have  no  passive 
voice ;  and  though  some  of  them  admit  a  passive  form,  it  is 
without  a  passive  signification.  Thus,  he  is  gone  tip,  and  he 
has  gone  up,  are  nearly  of  the  same  import.  Now  the  only 
distinction  in  English  between  the  active  compound  and  the 
neuter  compound  is  this :  the  preposition  in  the  former,  or, 
more  properly,  the  compound  verb  itself,  hath  a  regimen  ;  in 
the  latter  it  hath  none.  Indeed,  these  last  may  be  farther 
compounded  by  the  addition  of  a  preposition  with  a  noun,  in 
which  case  they  also  become  active  or  transitive  verbs,  as  ia 
these  instances,  "  He  ivent  up  to  her" — "  She  fell  out  with 
them."  Consequently,  in  giving  a  passive  voice  to  these, 
there  is  no  solecism.  We  may  say,  "  She  was  gone  up  to  by 
him" — "  They  were  fallen  out  with  by  her."  But  it  must  be 
owned  that  the  passive  form,  in  this  kind  of  decomposite 
verbs,  ought  always  to  be  avoided  as  inelegant,  if  not  ob- 
scure. By  bringing  three  prepositions  thus  together,  one  in- 
evitably creates  a  certain  confusion  of  thought ;  and  it  is  not 
till  after  some  painful  attention  that  the  reader  discovers  two 
of  the  prepositions  to  belong  to  the  preceding  verb,  and  the 
third  to  the  succeeding  noun.  The  principal  scope  of  the 
foregoing  observations  on  the  passage  quoted  from  Dr.  Lowth 
is,  to  pomt  out  the  only  characteristical  distinction  between 
verbs  neuter  and  verbs  active  which  obtains  in  our  language. 

To  these  I  shall  subjoin  a  few  things  which  may  serve  for 
ascertaining  another  distinction  in  regard  to  verbs.  When  a 
verb  is  used  impersonally,  it  ought  undoubtedly  to  be  in  the 
singular  number,  whether  the  neuter  pronoun  be  expressed 
or  understood  ;  and  when  no  nominative  in  the  sentence  can 
regularly  be  construed  with  the  verb,  it  ought  to  be  consider- 
ed as  impersonal.  For  this  reason,  analogyas  well  as  usage 
favour  this  mode  of  expression:  "The  conditions  of  the 
agreement  were  as  follows,''''  and  not  as  follow.  A  few  late 
writers  have  inconsiderately  adopted  this  last  form  through 
a  mistake  of  the  construction.  For  the  same  reason,  we 
ought  to  say,  "  I  shall  consider  his  censures  so  far  only  as 
concei-ns  ray  friend's  conduct,"  and  not  "  so  far  as  concern.'''' 
It  is  manifest  that  the  word  conditions  in  the  first  case,  and 
censures  in  the  second,  cannot  serve  as  nominatives.  If  we 
give  either  sentence  another  turn,  and  instead  of  as  say  such 
as,  the  verb  is  no  longer  impersonal.  The  pronoun  such  is 
the  nominative,  whose  number  is  determined  by  its  antece- 
dent. Thus  we  must  say,  "  They  were  such  as  follow" 
"such  of  his  censures  only  as  concern  my  friend."  In  this 
I  entirely  concur  with  a  late  anonymous  remarker  on  the 
language. 

I  shall  only  add  on  this  subject  that  the  use  of  impersonal 
verbs  was  much  more  frequent  with  us  formerly  than  it  is 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  231 

now.  Thus,  it  p/eascth  me,  if  grieveth  me,  it  repenteth  me,  were 
a  sort  of  impersoiials,  for  which  we  should  now  say  I  please, 
r grieve,  I  repent.  Mcthin/is  and  mcthought  at  present,  as  me- 
seemeth  and  meseemed  anciently,  are,  as  Johnson  justly  sup- 
poses, remains  of  the  same  practice.*  It  would  not  be  easy 
to  conjecture  what  hath  misled  some  writers  so  far  as  to 
make  them  adopt  the  imcouth  term  metlwiights,  in  contempt 
alike  of  usage  and  of  analogy,  and  even  without  any  colour- 
able pretext  that  1  can  think  of,  for  thoughts  is  no  part  of  the 
verb  at  all. 

I  shall  now  consider  another  suspected  idiom  in  English, 
which  is  the  indefinite  use  sometimes  made  of  the  pronoun 
it,  when  applied  in  the  several  ways  following:  first,  to  per- 
sons as  well  as  to  things  ;  second,  to  the  first  person  and  the 
second,  as  well  as  to  the  third ;  and,  thirdly,  to  a  plural  as 
well  as  to  a  singular.  Concerning  the  second  application 
and  the  third,  Dr.  Johnson  says  in  his  Dictionary,  "  This 
mode  of  speech,  though  used  by  good  authors,  and  supported 
by  the  il  y  a  of  the  French,  has  yet  an  appearance  of  barba- 
rism." Dr.  Lowth  doubts  only  of  the  third  application. 
"The  phrase,"  says  he,  "  which  occurs  in  the  following  ex- 
amples, though  pretty  common,  and  authorized  by  custom, 
yet  seems  to  be  somewhat  defective  in  the  same  way."  He 
had  been  specifying  inaccuracies  arising  from  disagreement 
in  number.     The  examples  alluded  to  are, 

"'Tis  these  that  early  taint  the  female  soiil."t 
"  Tis  they  that  give  the  great  Atrides'  spoils  ; 

'Tis  they  that  still  renew  Ulysses'  toils. "$ 
"  Who  was't  came  by  ? 

Tis  two  or  three,  my  lord,  that  bring  you  word, 

Macduff  is  fled  to  England. "i^ 

Against  the  first  application,  to  persons  as  well  as  to  things, 
neither  of  these  critics  seems  to  have  any  objection  ;  and  it 
must  be  owned,  that  they  express  themselves  rather  skepti- 
cally than  dogmatically  about  the  other  two.  Yet,  in  my 
judgment,  if  one  be  censurable,  they  all  are  censurable  ;  and 
if  one  be  proper,  they  all  are  proper.  The  distinction  of  gen- 
ders, especially  with  us,  is  as  essential  as  the  distinction  of 
persons  or  that  of  numbers.  I  say  especially  with  us,  because, 
though  the  circumstances  be  few  wherein  the  gender  can  be 
marked,  yet  in  those  few  our  language,  perhaps  more  than 
any  other  tongue,  follows  the  dictates  of  pure  Nature.  The 
masculine  pronoun  he  it  applies  always  to  males,  or,  at  least, 
to  persons  (God  and  angels,  for  example)  who,  in  respect  of 
dignity,  are  conceived  as  males;  the  feminine  she  to  females  ; 
and,  unless  where  the  style  is  figurative,  the  neuter  it  to 

*  The  similar  use  of  impersonal  verbs,  and  the  il  me  semhU  of  the  French, 
lender  this  hypothesis  still  more  probable. 

i  Pope.  t  Prior  I)  Shakspeare 


232  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

things  either  not  susceptible  of  sex,  or  in  which  the  sex  is 
unknown.  Besides,  if  we  have  recourse  to  the  Latin  syntax, 
the  genuine  source  of  most  of  our  grammatical  scruples,  we 
shall  find  there  an  equal  repugnancy  to  all  the  applications 
above  rehearsed.* 

But,  to  clear  up  this  matter  as  much  as  possible,  I  shall 
recur  to  some  remarks  of  the  last-mentioned  critic  concern- 
ing the  significations  and  the  uses  of  the  neuter  it.  "  The 
pronoun  it,'''  he  tells  us,  "  is  sometimes  employed  to  express, 
first,  the  subject  of  any  inquiry  or  discourse ;  secondly,  the 
state  or  condition  of  anything  or  person ;  thirdly,  the  thing, 
whatever  it  be,  that  is  the  cause  of  any  effect  or  event,  or 
any  person  considered  merely  as  a  cause,  without  regard  to 
proper  personality. "  In  illustration  of  the  third  use,  he  quotes 
these  words  : 

"  You  heard  her  say  herself  it  was  not  I — 
'  Tivas  I  that  kill'd  her."t 

The  observations  of  this  author  concerning  the  neuter  pro- 
noun are,  as  far  as  they  go,  unexceptionable.  He  ought  to 
have  added  to  the  word  personality,  in  the  third  use,  the  words 
gender  or  number.  The  example  which  he  hath  given  shows 
that  there  is  no  more  regard  to  gender  than  to  personality ; 
and  that  there  ought  to  be  no  more  regard  to  number  than  to 
either  of  the  former,  may  be  evinced  from  the  considerations 
following. 

When  a  personal  pronoun  must  be  used  indefinitely,  as  in 
asking  a  question  whereof  the  subject  is  unknown,  there  is  a 
necessity  of  using  one  person  for  all  the  persons,  one  gender 
for  all  the  genders,  and  one  number  for  both  numbers.  Now 
in  English,  custom  hath  consigned  to  this  indefinite  use  the 
third  person,  the  neuter  gender,  and  the  singular  number. 
Accordingly,  in  asking  a  question,  nobody  censures  this  use 
of  the  pronoun,  as  in  the  interrogation  Who  is  it?  yet  by  the 
answer  it  may  be  found  to  be  /  or  he,  one  or  many.  But, 
whatever  be  the  answer,  if  the  question  be  proper,  it  is  prop- 
er to  begin  the  answer  by  expressing  the  subject  of  inquiry 
in  the  same  indefinite  manner  wherein  it  was  expressed  in 
the  question.  The  words  it  is  are  consequently  pertinent 
here,  whatever  be  the  words  which  ought  to  follow,  whether 
/  or  he,  we  or  they.X  Nay,  this  way  of  beginning  the  answer 
by  the  same  indefinite  expression  of  the  subject  that  was 
used  in  the  question,  is  the  only  method  authorized  in  the 
language  for  connecting  these  two  together,  and  showing 
that  what  is  asserted  is  an  answer  to  the  question  asked ; 
and  if  there  be  nothing  faulty  in  the  expression  when  it  is 
an  answer  to  a  question  actually  proposed,  there  can  be  no 

*  In  Latin,  id  fait  ille  would  be  as  gross  a  solecism  as  id  fuit  ego,  or  id 
fait  vos.  t  Shakspeare. 

t  In  this  observation  I  find  I  have  the  concurrence  of  Dr.  Priestley. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OP    RHETORIC.  233 

fault  in  it  where  no  question  is  proposed  ;  for  every  answer 
that  is  not  a  bare  assent  or  denial  ought,  independently  of  the 
question,  to  contain  a  proposition  grammatically  enunciated, 
and  every  affirmation  or  negation  ouglit  to  be  so  enunciated 
as  that  it  might  be  an  answer  to  a  question.  Thus,  by  a  very 
simple  sorites,  it  can  be  proved  that  if  the  pronoun  it  may 
be  used  indefinitely  in  one  case,  it  may  in  every  case.  Nor 
is  it  possible  to  conceive  even  the  shadow  of  a  reason  why 
one  number  may  not  as  well  serve  indefinitely  for  both  num- 
bers, as  one  person  for  all  the  persons,  and  one  gender  for  all 
the  genders. 

That  which  hath  made  more  writers  scrupulous  about  the 
first  of  these  applications  than  about  the  other  two  is,  I  ima- 
gine, the  appearance,  not  of  the  pronoun,  but  of  the  substan- 
tive verb  in  the  singular  adjoined  to  some  term  in  the  plural. 
In  order  to  avoid  this  supposed  incongruity,  the  translators 
of  the  Bible  have  in  one  place  stumbled  on  a  veiy  uncouth 
expression  :  "  Search  the  Scriptures,  for  in  them  ye  think  ye 
have  eternal  life ;  and  thei/  are  they  which  testify  of  me."* 
In  the  other  applications  they  have  not  hesitated  to  use  the 
indefinite  pronoun  it,  as  in  this  expression  :  "  J^  is  I,  be  not 
afraid. "t  Yet  the  phrase  theij  are  they  in  the  first  quotation, 
adopted  to  prevent  the  incongruous  adjunction  of  the  verb  in 
the  singular,  and  the  subsequent  noun  or  pronoun  in  the  plu- 
ral, is,  I  suspect,  no  better  English  than  the  phrase  /  am  J 
would  have  been  in  the  second,  by  which  they  might  have 
prevented  the  adjunction,  not  less  incongruous,  of  the  third 
person  of  the  verb  to  the  first  personal  pronoun.  If  there  be 
any  difference  in  I'espect  of  congruity,  the  former  is  the  less 
incongruous  of  the  two.  The  latter  never  occurs  but  in  such 
passages  as  those  above  quoted,  whereas  nothing  is  com- 
moner than  to  use  the  substantive  verb  as  a  copula  to  two 
nouns  differing  in  number,  in  which  case  it  generally  agrees 
with  the  first.  "  His  meat  ivas  locusts  and  wild  honey,"J  is  a 
sentence  which  I  believe  nobody  ever  suspected  to  be  ungram- 
matical.  Now,  as  every  noun  may  be  represented  by  a  pro- 
noun, what  is  grammatical  in  those  must,  by  parity  of  rea- 
son, be  grammatical  in  these  also.  Had  the  question  been 
put,  "  What  was  his  meat  V  the  answer  had  undoubtedly  been 
proper,  "  It  was  locusts  and  wild  honey  ;"  and  this  is  anoth- 
er argument  which  in  my  apprehension  is  decisive. 

But  "  this  comes,"  as  Dr.  Lowth  expresseth  himself  in  a 
similar  case,  "  of  forcing  the  English  under  the  rules  of  a  for- 
eign language  with  which  it  has  little  concern."^    A  conve- 

*  .Tohn,  v.,  39.  t  Matt.,  xiv.,  27.  t  Matt.,  iii.,  4. 

()  The  English  hath  little  or  no  aflhiiiy  in  structure  either  to  the  Latin  or 

to  the  Greek.     It  much  more  resembles  the  inoiiern  European  languages, 

especially  the  French.    Accordingly,  we  find  in  it  anidiom  very  similar  to 

that  which  hath  been  considered  above.    I  do  not  mean  the  il  y  a,  b0 

U  2 


234  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

nient  mode  of  speech  which  custom  hath  established,  and  for 
which  there  is  pretty  frequent  occasion,  ought  not  to  be  has- 
tily given  up,  especially  when  the  language  doth  not  furnish 
us  with  another  equally  simple  and  easy  to  supply  its  place. 
1  should  not  have  entered  so  minutely  into  the  defence  o!  a 
practice  sufficiently  authorized  by  use  but  in  order,  if  possi- 
ble, to  satisfy  those  critics  who,  though  both  ingenious  and 
acute,  are  apt  to  be  rather  more  scrupulous  on  the  article  of 
language  than  the  nature  of  the  subject  will  admit.  In  every 
tongue  there  are  real  anomalies  which  have  obtained  the 
sanction  of  custom  ;  for  this,  at  most,  hath  been  reckoned 
only  dubious.  There  are  particularly  some  in  our  own  which 
have  never,  as  far  as  I  know,  been  excepted  against  by  any 
writer,  and  which,  nevertheless,  it  is  much  more  difficult  to 
reconcile  to  the  syntactic  order  than  that  which  I  have  been 
now  defending.  An  example  of  this  is  the  use  of  the  indefi- 
nite article,  which  is  naturally  singular,  before  adjectives  ex- 
pressive of  number,  and  joined  with  substantives  in  the  plu- 
ral. Such  are  the  phrases  following,  a  few  persons,  a  great 
many  men,  a  hundred  or  a  thousand  ships. 

There  is  another  point  on  which,  as  both  the  practice  of 
writers  and  the  judgment  of  critics  seemed  to  be  divided,  it 
may  not  be  improper  to  make  a  few  remarks.  It  is  the  way 
of  using  the  infinitive  after  a  verb  in  the  preterit.  Some  will 
have  it  that  the  verb  governed  ought  to  be  in  the  past  as  w^A 
as  the  verb  governing ;  and  others  that  the  infinitive  ough!:  lO 
be  in  what  is  called  the  present,  but  what  is,  in  fact,  indefinite 
in  regard  to  time.  I  do  not  think  that  on  either  side  the  dif- 
ferent cases  have  been  distinguished  with  sufficient  accuracy. 
A  veiy  little  attention  will,  1  hope,  enable  us  to  unravel  the 
difficulty  entirely. 

Let  us  begin  with  the  simplest  case,  the  infinitive  after  the 
present  of  the  indicative.  When  the  infinitive  is  expressive 
of  what  is  conceived  to  be  either  future  in  regard  to  the  verb 
in  the  present,  or  contemporary,  the  infinitive  ought  to  be  in 
the  present.  Thus,  "  I  intend  to  write  to  my  father  to-mor- 
row":— "  He  seems  to  be  a  man  of  letters."  In  the  first  ex- 
ample, the  verb  to  ivrite  expresses  what  is  future  in  respect 
of  the  verb  intend.  In  the  second,  the  verb  to  be  expresses 
what  is  equally  present  with  the  verb  seems.  About  the  pro- 
cause  the  a  is  part  of  an  active  verb,  and  the  words  that  follow  in  the  sen- 
tence are  its  regimen ;  consequently,  no  agreement  in  person  and  number 
is  required.  But  the  idiom  to  which  I  allude  is  the  il  est.  as  used  in  the 
following  sentence,  "  Il  est  des  animaux  qui  semblent  reduits  au  toucher  :  il 
en  est  qui  semblent  participer  a  notre  intelligence.'' — Contemplation  (le  la  Na- 
ture, par  Bounel.  I  aiii  too  zealous  an  advocate  for  English  independency 
to  look  on  this  argument  as  conclusive,  but  I  think  it  more  than  a  sufficient 
counterpoise  to  all  that  can  be  pleaded  on  the  other  side  from  the  syntax  o( 
'he  learned  languages. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  235 

priety  of  sucli  expressions  there  is  no  doubt.  Again,  if  the 
infinite  after  the  verb  in  the  present  be  intended  to  express 
what  must  have  been  antecedent  to  that  whicli  is  expressed 
by  the  governing  verb,  the  infinitive  must  be  in  the  preterper- 
fect,  even  though  the  other  verb  be  in  the  present.  Thus, 
."  From  his  conversation  he  appears  to  have  studied  Homer 
with  great  care  and  judgment."  To  use  the  present  in  this 
case,  and  say  "  He  appears  to  study  Homer,"  would  overturn 
the  sense. 

The  same  rule  must  be  followed  when  the  governing  verb 
is  in  the  preterit ;  for  let  it  be  observed,  that  it  is  the  tense  of 
the  governing  verb  only  that  marks  the  absolute  time ;  the 
tense  of  the  verb  governed  marks  solely  its  relative  time 
with  respect  to  the  other.  Thus  1  should  say,  "  1  always  in- 
tended to  write  to  my  father,  though  I  have  not  yet  done  it" — 
"  He  seemed  to  be  a  man  of  letters" — "  From  a  conversation 
I  once  had  with  him,  he  appeared  to  have  studied  Homer  with 
great  care  and  judgment."  Propriety  plainly  requires  that 
in  the  first  two  instances  the  infinitive  should  be  in  the  pres- 
ent tense,  and  in  the  third  instance  in  tlie  preterit. 

Priestley  has  not  expressed  himself  on  this  subject  with 
precision.  I  found  him  better  than  I  expected  to  find  him,  is 
the  only  proper  analogical  expression.  Expected  to  have  found 
him  is  irrecomnlable  alike  to  grammar  and  to  sense.  Indeed, 
all  verbs  expressive  of  hope,  desire,  intention,  or  command, 
must  invariably  be  followed  by  the  present,  and  not  the  per- 
fect of  the  infinitive.  Everybody  would  perceive  an  error  in 
this  expression  :  "  It  is  long  since  I  commanded  him  to  have 
done  it."  Yet  expected  to  have  found  is  no  better.  It  is  as 
clear  that  the  finding  must  be  posterior  to  the  expectation,  as 
that  the  obedience  must  be  posterior  tif  the  command.  But 
though  the  anonymous  remarker  formerly  quoted  is  in  the 
right  as  to  the  particular  expressions  criticised  by  him,  he 
decides  too  generally,  and  seems  to  have  imagined  that  in 
no  case  ought  the  preterperfect  of  the  infinitive  to  follow  the 
preterit  of  the  indicative.  If  this  was  his  opinion,  he  was 
egregiously  mistaken.  It  is,  however,  agreed  on  both  sides, 
that  in  order  to  express  the  past  with  the  defective  verb  outfit, 
we  must  use  the  perfect  of  the  infinitive,  and  say,  for  exam- 
ple, "  He  ought  to  have  done  it ;"  this,  in  that  verb,  being  the 
only  possible  way  of  distinguishing  the  past  from  the  present. 

There  is  only  one  other  observation  of  Dr.  Lowth  on 
which,  before  1  conclude  this  article,  I  must  beg  leave  to 
offer  some  remarks.  "  Phrases  like  the  following,  though 
very  common,  are  improper  :  Much  depends  upon  the  rule''s 
being  observed;  and  error  will  be  the  consequence  of  its  being 
neglected.  For  here  is  a  noun  arid  a  pronoun  representing  it, 
each  in  the  possessive  case,  that  is,  under  government  of  an- 
other noun,  but  without  other  noun  to  govern  it ;  for  being 


236  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

observed  and  leing  neglected  are  not  nouns,  nor  can  you  sup- 
ply the  place  of  the  possessive  case  by  the  preposition  nf  be- 
fore the  noun  or  pronoun."*  For  my  part,  notwithstanding 
what  is  here  very  speciously  urged,  I  am  not  satisfied  that 
there  is  any  fault  in  the  phrases  censured.  They  appear  to 
me  to  be  perfectly  in  the  idiom  of  our  tongue,  and  such  as 
on  some  occasions  could  not  easily  be  avoided,  unless  by 
recurring  to  circumlocution,  an  expedient  which  invariably 
tends  to  enervate  the  expression.  But  let  us  examine  the 
matter  more  nearly. 

This  author  admits  that  the  active  participle  may  be  em- 
ployed as  a  noun,  and  has  given  some  excellent  directions 
regarding  the  manner  in  which  it  ought  to  be  construed,  that 
the  proper  distinction  may  be  preserved  between  the  noun 
and  the  gerund.  Phrases  I'ke  these,  therefore,  he  would 
have  admitted  as  unexceptionable  :  "  Much  depends  upon 
their  observing  of  the  rule,  and  error  will  be  the  consequence 
of  their  neglecting  of  it."  Now,  though  I  allow  both  the 
modes  of  expression  to  be  good,  1  think  the  first  simpler  and 
better  than  the  second.  Let  us  consider  whether  the  former 
be  liable  to  any  objections  which  do  not  equally  affect  the 
latter. 

One  principal  objection  to  the  first  is,  "  You  cannot  supply 
the  place  of  the  possessive  case  by  the  preposition  o/befoi'e 
the  noun  or  pronoun."  Right ;  but  before  you  draw  any  con- 
clusion from  this  circumstance,  try  whether  it  will  not  equally 
affect  both  expressions ;  for,  if  it  does,  both  are  on  this  ac 
count  to  be  rejected,  or  neither.  In  the  first,  the  sentence 
will  be  made  to  run  thus  :  "  Much  depends  upon  the  being  ob- 
served of  the  rule,  and  error  will  be  the  consequence  of  the 
being  neglected  of  it.*  Very  bad,  witjiout  question.  In  the 
second,  thus  :  "  Much  depends  upon  the  observing  of  them  of  , 
the  rule,  and  error  will  be  the  consequence  of  the  neglecting 
of  them  of  it."  Still  worse.  But  it  may  be  thought  that  as, 
in  the  last  example,  the  participial  noun  gets  a  double  regi- 
men, this  occasions  all  the  impropriety  and  confusion.  I 
shall  therefore  make  the  experiment  on  a  more  simple  sen- 
tence. "  Much  will  depend  on  your  piipiVs  composing,  but 
more  on  his  reading  frequently."  Would  it  be  English  to  say, 
"  Much  will  depend  on  the  composing  of  your  pupil,  but  more 
on  the  reading  of  him  frequently  V  No,  certainly.  If  this 
argument,  then,  prove  anything,  it  proves  too  much,  and, 
consequently,  can  be  no  criterion. 

The  only  other  objection  mentioned  is,  that  "  being  observed 
and  being  neglected  are  not  nouns."  It  is  acknowledged  that, 
in  the  common  acceptation  of  the  word,  ihey  are  not  nouns, 
but  passive  participles  ;  neither  is  the  active  participle  com- 

♦  Introduction,  &c.,  Sentences,  Note  on  the  6th  Phrase. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  237 

monly  a  noun  ;  neither  is  the  infinitive  of  the  verb  active  or 
passive  a  noun  ;  yet  the  genius  of  the  tongue  permits  that  all 
these  may  be  construed  as  nouns  in  certain  occurrences. 
The  infinitive,  in  particular,  is  employed  substantively  when 
it  is  made  either  the  nominative  or  the  regimen  of  a  verb. 
Novr  in  this  way  not  the  infinitive  only,  but  along  with  it  all 
the  words  in  construction,  are  understood  h?.  one  compound 
noun,  as  in  the  examples  following :  "  To  love  God  and  our 
neighbour  is  a  duty  incumbent  on  us  all,"  and  "  The  Gospel 
strongly  inculcates  on  us  this  important  lesson,  to  love  God 
and  our  neighbour.''''  But  in  no  other  situation  can  such  clauses 
supply  the  place  of  nouns.  They  are  never  used  in  construc- 
tion with  other  nouns  followed  by  a  preposition.  The  quo- 
tation brought  from  Spenser  is,  I  suspect,  a  mere  Grecism, 
which  was  not  in  his  time,  more  than  it  is  at  present,  con- 
formable to  the  English  idiom.  For  is  the  only  preposition 
that  seems  ever  to  have  been  construed  with  such  clauses, 
after  another  verb ;  and  even  this  usjige  is  now  totally  laid 
aside. 

I  am  of  opinion,  therefore,  upon  the  whole,  that  as  the 
idiom  in  question  is  analogical,  supported  by  good  use,  and 
sometimes  very  expedient,  it  ought  not  to  be  entirely  rep- 
robated. 


CHAPTER  V. 

OF    THE    QCALITIKS    OF    STYLE    STRICTLY    RHETORICAL. 

Purity,  of  which  I  have  treated  at  some  length  in  the  two 
preceding  chapters,  may  justly  be  denominated  gramniHtical 
truth.  It  consisfeth  in  the  conformity  of  the  expression  t'.) 
the  sentiment  which  the  speaker  or  the  writer  intends  to  con- 
vey by  it,  as  moral  truth  consisteth  in  the  conformity  of  the 
sentiment  intended  to  be  conveyed  to  the  sentiment  actually 
entertained  by  the  speaker  or  the  writer;  and  logical  truth, 
as  was  hinted  above,  in  the  conformity  of  tiie  sentiment  to 
the  nature  of  things.  'I"he  opposite  to  logical  truth  is  prop- 
erly error :  to  moral  truth,  a  lie  ;  to  grammatical  truth,  a 
blunder.  Now  the  only  standard  by  which  the  ci)nrormity 
implied  in  grammatical  truth  must  be  ascertained  in  every  lan- 
guage is,  as  hath  been  evinced,*  reputable,  national,  and  pres- 
ent use  in  that  language. 

But  it  is  with  the  expression  as  with  the  sentiment,  it  is 
not  enough  to  the  orator  that  both  be  true.  A  sentence  may 
be  a  JLSt  exhibition,  according  to  the  rules  of  the  hnigiiage, 
of  the  tl  ought  intended  to  be  conveyed  by  it,  and  may  tliere- 

*  B.  ii.,  chap.  i. 


238  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OP   RHETORIC. 

fore,  to  a  mere  grammarian,  be  unexceptionable,  which  to  an 
orator  may  appear  extremely  faulty.  It  may,  nevertheless, 
be  obscure  ;  it  may  be  languid ;  it  may  be  inelegant ;  it  may 
be  flat ;  it  may  be  unmusical.  It  is  not  ultimately  the  just- 
ness either  of  the  thought  or  of  the  expression  which  is  the 
aim  of  the  orator^but  it  is  a  certain  effect  to  be  produced  in 
the  hearers.  Thi§^^^eflfecL3S..h.e-purposeth  to  produce  iiiJJiem 
b3LiIlgiUl&.JaL.language,  which  heHmalcSs-tlwr  tnstruiiient  of 
conveying  his  sentiments  into  their  minds,  he  must  take  care, 
in  the  first  place,  that  his  style  be  perspicuous,  that  so  he  maj'' 
be  sure  of  being  understood.  If  he  would  not  only  inform  the 
understanding,  but  please  the  imagination,  he  must  add  the 
charms  of  vivacity  and  elegance,  corresponding  to  the  two 
sources  from  which,  as  was  observed  in  the  beginning  of  this 
work,*  the  merit  of  an  address  of  this  kind  results.  By  vi- 
vacity, resemblance  is  attained  ;  by  elegance,  dignity  of  man 
ner ;  for  as  to  the  dignity  of  the  subject  itself,  or  thing  imi- 
tated, it  concerns  solely  the  thought.  If  he  purposes  to  work 
upon  the  passions,  his  very  diction,  as  well  as  his  sentiments, 
must  be  animated.  Thus,  language  and  thought,  like  body 
and  soul,  are  made  to  correspond,  and  the  qualities  of  the  one 
exactly  to  co-operate  with  those  of  the  other. 

But  though  the  perfection  of  the  body  consists,  as  was  for- 
merly observed,!  in  its  fitness  for  serving  the  purposes  of 
the  soul,  it  is,  at  the  same  time,  capable  of  one  peculiar  ex 
cellence  as  a  visible  object.  The  excellence  I  mean  is  beau- 
ty, which  evidently  implies  more  than  what  results  from  the 
fitness  of  the  several  organs  and  members  for  answering  their 
respective  ends.  That  there  is  a  beauty  in  the  perceived  fit- 
ness of  means  to  their  end,  and  instruments  to  their  use,  is 
uncontrovertible.  All  that  T  contewlfor  here  is,  that  this  is 
not  the  whole  of  what  rsiruplie_d,jHlI5s::::te5Wi--;&eflM;:y.  The 
eyes  of  ^iie^ person  may  be  much  inferior  in  this  respect  to 
those  of  another,  though  equally  fit  for  all  the  purposes  of  vis- 
ion. The  like  may  be  said  of  every  other  feature.  Analo- 
gous to  this,  there  is  an  excellence  of  which  language  is  sus- 
ceptible as  an  audible  object,  distinct  from  its  aptitude  for  con- 
veying the  sentiments  of  the  orator  with  light  and  energy  into 
the  minds  of  the  hearers.  Now  as  music  is  to  the  ear  what 
beauty  is  to  the  eye,  I  shall,  for  want  of  a  more  proper  term, 
denominate  this  excellence  in  style  its  music,  though  I  ac- 
knowledge the  word  is  rarely  used  with  so  great  latitude. 

Thus  it  appears  that,  besides  purity,  which  is  a  quality  en- 
tirely grammatical,  the  five  simple  and  original  qualities  of 
style,  considered  as  an  object  to  the  understanding,  the  ima- 
gination, the  passions,  and  the  ear,  are  perspicuity,  vivacity, 
elegance,  animation,  and  music, 

•  Book  i.,  chap.  i.  t  Book  i.,  chap,  ir 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC.  239 


CHAPTER  VI. 

OF    PERSPICUITY. 

Of  all  the  qualities  above  mentioned,  the  first  and  most  es 
sential  is  perspicuity*  Every  speaker  doth  not  propose  to 
please  the  imagination,  nor  is  every  subject  susceptible  of 
those  ornaments  which  conduce  to  this  purpose.  Much  less 
is  it  the  aim  of  every  speech  to  agitate  the  passions.  There 
are  some  occasions,  therefore,  on  which  vivacity,  and  many 
on  which  animation  of  style,  are  not  necessary ;  nay,  there 
are  occasions  on  which  the  last  especially  would  be  improp- 
er. But  whatever  be  the  ultimate  intention  of  the  orator,  to 
inform,  to  convince,  to  please,  to  move,  or  to  persuade,  still 
he  must  speak  so  as  to  be  understood,  or  he  speaks  to  no 
purpose.  If  he  do  not  propose  to  convey  certain  sentiments 
into  the  minds  of  his  hearers  by  the  aid  of  signs  intelligible 
to  them,  he  may  as  well  declaim  before  them  in  an  unknown 
tongue.  This  prerogative  the  intellect  has  above  all  the  other 
faculties,  that  whether  it  be  or  be  not  immediately  addressed 
by  the  speaker,  it  must  be  regarded  by  him  either  ultimately 
or  subordinately ;  ultimately  when  the  direct  purpose  of  the 
discourse  is  information  or  conviction ;  subordinately  when 
the  end  is  pleasure,  emotion,  or  persuasion. 

There  is  another  difference  also  between  perspicuity  and 
the  two  last-mentioned  qualities,  vivacity  and  animation, 
which  deserves  to  be  remarked.  In  a  discourse  wherein  ei- 
ther or  both  of  these  are  requisite,  it  is  not  every  sentence 
that  requires,  or  even  admits  them  ;  but  every  sentence  ought 
to  be  perspicuous.  The  effect  of  all  the  other  qualities  of 
style  is  lost  without  this.  This  being  to  the  understanding 
what  light  is  to  the  eye,  ought  to  be  diffused  over  the  whole 
performance.  In  this  respect  it  resembles  grammatical  pu- 
rity, of  which  I  have  already  treated,  but  it  is  not  in  this  re- 
spect only  that  it  resembles  it.  Both  are  best  illustrated  by 
showing  the  different  ways  wherein  they  may  be  lost.  It  is 
for  these  reasons  that,  though  perspicuity  be  more  properly 
a  rhetorical  than  a  grammatical  quality,  I  thought  it  better  to 
include  it  in  this  book,  which  treats  of  the  foundations  and 
essential  or  universal  properties  of  elocution,  than  to  class  it 
with  those  which  are  purely  discriminative  of  particular  styles. 

Indeed,  if  language  were  capable  of  absolute  perfection, 
which  it  evidently  is  not ;  if  words  and  things  could  be  ren- 
dered exact  counterparts  to  each  other;  it'  every  different 
thing  in  nature  had  a  different  symbol  by  which  it  were  ex- 

•  "Prima  est  eloquentiss  virtus  perspicuitas." — Quint. 


240  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

pressed ;  and  every  difference  in  the  relations  of  things  had 
a  corresponding  difference  in  the  combinations  of  words,  pu- 
rity alone  would  secure  perspicuity,  or,  rarher,  these  two 
would  entirely  coincide.  To  speak  grammatically  would,  in 
that  case,  convey  infallibly  and  perspicuously  the  full  mean- 
ing of  the  speaker,  if  he  had  any  meaning,  into  the  mind  of 
every  hearer  who  perfectly  understands  the  language.  There 
would  not  be  even  a  possibility  of  mistake  or  doubt.  But  the 
case  i«  widely  different  with  all  the  languages  that  ever  were, 
are,  or  will  be  in  the  world. 

Grammatical  purity,  in  every  tongue,  conduceth  greatly  to 
perspicuity,  but  it  will  by  no  means  secure  it.  A  man  may 
in  respect  of  it  speak  unexceptionably, 'and  yet  speak  ob- 
scurely or  ambiguously ;  and  though  we  cannot  say  that  a 
man  may  speak  properly,  and  at  the  same  time  speak  unin- 
telligibly, yet  this  last  case  falls  more  naturally  to  be  consid- 
ered as  an  offence  against  perspicuity  than  as  a  violation  o° 
propriety ;  for  when  the  meaning  is  not  discovered,  the  par- 
ticular impropriety  cannot  be  pointed  out.  In  the  three  dif- 
ferent ways,  therefore,  just  now  mentioned,  perspicuity  may 
be  violated. 

SECTION  I. 

THE      OBSCURE. 

Pakt  I.  From  Defect. 

This  is  the  first  offence  against  perspicuity,  and  may  arise 
from  several  causes.  First,  from  some  defect  in  the  expres- 
sion. There  are  in  all  languages  certain  elliptical  expres- 
sions, which  use  hath  established,  and  which,  therefore,  very 
I'arcly  occasion  darkness.  When  they  do  occasion  it,  they 
ought  always  to  be  avoided.  Such  are,  in  Greek  and  Latin, 
the  frequent  suppression  of  the  substantive  verb  and  of  the 
possessive  pronouns  ;  I  was  going  to  add,  and  of  the  person- 
al pronouns  also;  but,  on  reflection,  I  am  sensible  that,  in 
the  omission  of  them  in  the  nominative,  there  is  properly  no 
ellipsis,  as  the  verb,  by  its  inflection,  actually  expresses  them. 
Accordingly,  in  these  languages,  the  pronoun  in  the  nomina- 
tive is  never  rightly  introduced  unless  when  it  is  emphatical. 
But  the  idiom  of  most  modern  tongues,  English  and  Fr.ench 
particularly,  will  seldom  admit  such  ellipsis.*  In  Italian  and 
Spanish  they  are  pretty  frequent. 

♦  The  French,  I  imagine,  have  gone  to  the  other  extreme.  They  re- 
quire in  many  instances  a  repetition  of  pronouns,  prepositions,  and  articles, 
whkh,  as  ihey  add  nothing  to  the  perspicuity,  must  render  the  expression 
languid.  Tliere  are  some  cases  in  which  this  repetition  is  consequential 
on  the  very  construction  of  their  language.  For  example,  we  say  properly 
in  'E.n^Wsh.  my  father  and  mother,  because  the  possessive  pronoun,  liaving  no 
distinction  of  gender,  and  so  havmg  but  one  form,  is  alike  applicable  to  bot'a  • 


THE    PIlILOSOPnY    OF    RHETORIC.  241 

Often,  indeed,  the  affectation  of  conciseness,  often  the  ra- 
pidity of  tiioujrht  natural  to  some  writers,  will  give  vise  to 
still  more  material  defects  in  ihe  expression.  Of  these  I  shall 
produce  a  few  examples  :  "  He  is  inspired,''  says  an  eminent 
writer,  "  with  a  true  sense  nf  thai  funclion,  when  chosen  from 
a  regard  to  the  interests  of  piety  and  virtue.*'*  Sen.tc  in  this 
passage  denotes  an  inward  feeling,  or  the  impression  whicli 
some  sentiment  makes  upon  the  mind.  Now  a  function  can- 
not be  a  sentiment  impressed  or  felt.  The  expression  is 
therefore  defective,  and  ought  to  have  been,  "  He  is  inspired 
with  a  true  sense  of  the  dignity  or  of  the  importance  of  that 
function."  "You  ought  to  contemn  all  tire  wit  in  the  world 
r.gainst  yon."t  As  the  writer  doth  not  intend  to  signify  that 
all  the  wit  in  the  world  is  actually  exerted  against  the  per- 
son whom  he  addresses,  there  is  a  defect  in  the  expression, 
though  perhaps  it  will  be  thought  chargeable  with  redundancy 
at  the  same  time.  More  plainly  thus:  "You  ought  to  con- 
temn all  the  wit  that  can  be  emploj'ed  against  you."  "  He  talks 
all  the  way  up  stairs  to  a  visit."!  There  is  here  also  a  faulty 
omission,  vv'hich,  if  it  cannot  be  said  to  obscure  the  sense, 
doth  at  least  withhold  that  light  whereof  it  is  susceptible.  If 
the  word  visit  ever  meant  person  or  people,  there  would  be 
an  ambiguity  in  the  sentence,  and  we  should  imagine  this  the 
object  talked  to  ;  but  as  that  cannot  be  the  case,  the  expres- 
sion is  rather  to  be  accounted  lame,  there  being  no  verb  in  it 
with  which  the  words  to  a  visit  can  be  construed.  More  ex- 
plicitly thus :  "  He  talks  all  the  way  as  he  walks  up  stairs  to 
make  a  visit."  "  Arbitrary  pou'cr,"  says  an  elegant  writer, 
"  1  look  upon  as  a  greater  evil  than  anarchy  itself,  as  much 
as  a  savage  is  a  happier  state  of  life  than  a  slave  at  the  oar."^ 
Neither  savage  nor  slave  can  be  denominated  a  state  of  life, 
though  the  states  in  which  they  live  may  properly  be  com- 

the  case  being  different  witli  them,  renders  it  necessary  to  follovv  a  differ- 
ent rule,  and  lo  say  monpereet  ma  mere.  But  it  is  not  to  instances  of  this 
8ort  that  the  rule  is  limited.  Custom  with  them  hath  extended  it  to  innu- 
merable cases  wherein  there  is  no  necewsity  from  construction.  With  ug 
it  is  enough  to  say,  "  She  was  robbed  of  her  clothes  and  jewels."  With  them 
the  preposition  and  the  pronoun  must  boUi  be  repealed  de  ses  habits  et  deses 
joiaiix.  Again,  with  them  it  is  not  sufficient  to  say.  "The  woman  whom 
you  kmw  and  love,"  but  whoyii  you  know  .itid  whom  ynalovc — que  vons  connois- 
sez  et  que  vons  aimez.  In  like  manner,  the  relatives  in  French  must  never  be 
omitted.  They  often  are  m  English,  and  when  the  omission  occasions  no 
obscurity,  it  is  not  accounted  improper.  An  e.xpression  like  this  would  in 
tlieir  tongue  be  intolerable  :  "  You  are  obliged  to  sny  and  do  all  you  can."  It 
must  be  "  to  xay  and  to  do  all  that  which  you  can" — de  dire  et  de  faire  tout  ce 
que  vous  savez.  But  though  in  several  instances  the  critics  of  that  nation 
have  refined  on  their  language  lo  excess,  and  by  needless  repetitions  have 
sometimes  enervated  the  expression,  their  criticisms,  when  useful  in  assist- 
ing us  to  shun  any  obscurity  or  ambiguity,  deserve  to  be  adopted. 

*  Guardian,  Ko.  13.  t  Guardian,  No.  53. 

1  Spect.,  No.  2.  <^  Sentiments  of  a  Church  of  England  Man. 

X 


242  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

pared.  "  This  courage  among  the  adversaries  of  the  court," 
says  the  same  writer  in  another  piece,  "was  inspired  into 
them  by  various  incidents,  for  every  one  of  which  I  think  the 
ministers,  or,  if  that  was  the  case,  the  minister  alone,  is  to 
answer."*  If  Ihativas  the  case— Pray,  what  is  he  supposing 
to  have  been  the  case  ■?  To  the  relative,  that  I  can  find  no 
antecedent,  and  am  left  to  guess  that  he  means  if  there  was 
but  one  minister.  "  When  a  man  considers  not  only  an  ample 
fortune,  but  even  the  very  necessaries  of  life,  his  pretence  to 
food  itself  at  the  mercy  of  others,  he  cannot  but  look  upon 
himself  in  the  state  of  the  dead,  with  his  case  thus  much 
worse,  that  the  last  office  is  performed  by  his  adversaries  in- 
stead of  his  friends."!  There  is  a  double  ellipsis  in  this  sen- 
tence. You  must  first  supply  as  being  before  the  words  at 
the  tnercij,  and  insert  as  before  in  the  stale  of  the  dead.  "  I  beg 
of  you,"  says  Steele,  "never  let  the  glory  of  our  nation,  who 
made  France  tremble,  and  yet  has  the  gentleness  to  be  un- 
able to  bear  opposition  from  the  meanest  of  his  own  country- 
men, be  calumniated  in  so  impudent  a  manner  as  in  the  in- 
sinuation that  he  affected  a  perpetual  dictatorship."!  At  first 
reading,  one  is  at  a  loss  to  find  an  antecedent  to  the  pronouns 
who,  his,  and  he.  On  reflection,  one  discovers  that  the  phrase 
the  glory  of  our  nation  is  figurative,  and  denotes  a  certain  illus 
trious  personage.  The  trope  is  rath.eijoo  adventurojjs.  with- 
out some  softening  clause,  to  suit  the  idionTof  our  tongue. 
The  sense  would  have  appeared  immediately  had  he  said, 
"  Never  let  the  man,  who  may  justly  be  styled  the  glory  ol 
our  nation — " 

The  instances  now  given  will  suffice  to  specify  the  obscu- 
rities in  style  which  arise  from  deficiency.  The  same  evil 
may  also  be  occasioned  by  excess.  But  as  this  almost  inva- 
riably offends  against  vivacity,  and  only  sometimes  produceth 
darkness,  there  will  be  a  more  proper  occasion  of  considering 
it  afterward.  Another  cause  of  obscurity  is  a  bad  choice  of 
words.  When  it  is  this  alone  which  renders  the  sentence  ob- 
scure, there  is  always  ground  for  the  charge  of  impropriety, 
which  hath  been  discussed  already. 

Part  II.  From  Bad  Arrangement. 

Another  source  of  obscurity  is  a  bad  arrangement  of  the 
words.  In  this  case  the  construction  is  not  sufficiently  clear 
One  often,  on  first  hearing  the  sentence,  imagines,  from  the 
turn  of  it,  that  it  ought  to  be  construed  one  way,  and,  on  re- 
flection, finds  that  he  must  construe  it  another  way.  Of  this, 
which  is  a  blemish  too  common  ev^n  in  the  style  of  our  best 
writers,  I  shall  produce  a  few  examples :  "  It  contained," 

»  Free  Thoughts  on  the  Present  State  of  Affairs. 

*  Spectator  No.  456,  T.  %  Guardian,  Na  53. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF   RHETORIC.  243 

says  Swift,  "  a  warrant  for  conducting  me  and  my  retinue  to 
Traidragdubb,  orTrildrogdrib.  for  it  is  pronounced  both  ways, 
as  near  as  I  can  remember,  by  a  party  of  ten  /iurse.''l*  Tho 
words  Ay  apart!/  of  ten  horse  must  be  constTOed  with  the  par- 
ticiple conducting,  but  they  are  placed  so  far  from  this  word, 
and  so  near  the  vcib  pronounced,  that  at  first  they  suggest  a 
meaning  perfectly  ludicrous.  "  I  had  several  men  died  in  my 
ship  rt/ calentures."'!  The  preposition  of  must  be  construed 
with  the  verb  died,  and  not,  as  the  first  appearance  would 
suggest,  with  the  noun  s/iip  immediately  preceding.  More 
clearly  thus :  "  1  had  several  men  in  my  ship  who  died  of 
calentures."  I  shall  remark,  by-the-way,  that  though  the 
relatives  who  and  ivhich  may,  agreeably  to  the  English  idiom, 
be  sometimes  omitted  in  the  oblique  cases,  to  omit  them  in 
the  nominative,  as  in  the  passage  last  quoted,  almost  always 
gives  a  maimed  appearance  to  the  expression.  "  I  perceiv- 
ed it  had  beeii  scp.u.red  wif/i  half  an  eye.^'X  The  situation  of  the 
last  phrase,  which  is,  besides,  a  very  bad  one,  is  liable  to  the 
same  exception.  "I  have  hopes  that  when  Will  confronts 
him,  and  all  the  ladies  in  ivhose  behalf  he  engages  him  cast  kind 
looks  and  wishes  of  success  at  their  champion,  he  will  have 
some  shame. "i^  It  is  impossible  not  to  imagine,  on  hearing 
the  first  part  of  the  sentence,  that  Will  is  to  confront  all  the 
ladies,  though  afterward  we  find  it  necessary  to  construe 
this  clause  with  the  following  verb.  This  confusion  is  re- 
moved at  once  by  repeating  the  adverb  ivhen,  thus :  "  I  have 
hopes  that  when  Will  confronts  him,  and  when  all  the  ladies 
cast  kind  looks — "  The  subsequent  sentence  is  liable  to  the 
same  exception :  "  He  advanced  against  the  fierce  ancient, 
imitating  his  address,  his  pace,  and  career,  as  ivell  as  the  vig- 
our of  his  horse,  and  his  own  skill  would  allow. "||  The  clause 
as  loell  as  the  vigour  of  his  horse  appears  at  first  to  belong  to 
the  former  part  of  the  sentence,  and  is  afterward  found  to  be- 
long to  the  latter.  In  all  the  above  instances  of  bad  arrange- 
ment, there  is  what  may  be  justly  termed  a  constructive  am- 
biguity ;  that  is,  the  words  are  so  disposed  in  point  of  order 
as  would  render  them  really  ambiguous,  if,  in  that  construc- 
tion which  the  expression  first  suggests,  any  meaning  were 
exhibited.  As  this  is  not  the  case,  the  faulty  order  of  the 
words  cannot  properly  be  considered  as  rendering  the  sen- 
tence ambiguous,  but  obscure. 

It  may  indeed  be  argued,  that  in  these  and  the  like  exam- 
ples, the  least  reflection  in  the  reader  will  quickly  remove 
the  obscurity.  But  why  is  there  any  obscurity  to  be  remo- 
ved ?  Or  why  does  the  writer  require  more  attention  from  the 
reader,  or  the  speaker  from  the  hearer,  than  is  absolutniy 

*  Voyaee  to  Laputa.  t  Voyage  lo  the  Honyhnhnms. 

X  Guardian,  No.  10.       ^  Spectator,  No.  20.      1!  BaUle  of  the  Brooka. 


244  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

necessary  1  It  ought  to  be  remembered,  that  whatever  ap- 
plication we  must  give  to  the  words  is,  in  fact,  so  much  de- 
ducted from  wliat  we  owe  to  ilie  sentiments.  Besides,  tiie 
cftbrt  that  is  exerted  in  a  very  close  uttcntion  to  the  lan- 
gUHge  always  weakens  the  effect  which  the  thoughts  were 
intended  to  produce  in  tlie  mind.  "  By  perspicuity."  as  Quiu- 
tiliaii  justly  observes,  "  care  is  taken,  not  tiiat  the  hearer /?)«y 
understand  if  lie  will,  init  that  he  musl  understand,  whether 
he  will  or  not."*  Perspicuity  originally  and  properly  implies 
transparency,  such  as  may  be  ascribed  to  air,  glass,  water,  or 
any  other  medium  through  wiiich  material  objects  are  viewed. 
From  this  original  and  proper  sense  it  hath  been  metaphori- 
cally applied  to  language,  this  being,  as  it  were,  the  medium 
through  which  we  perceive  the  notions  and  sentiments  of  a 
speaker.  Now,  in  corporeal  things,  if  the  medium  tlirough 
which  we  look  at  any  object  be  perfectly  transparent,  our 
wliole  attention  is  fixed  on  the  object ;  we  are  scarcely  sen- 
sible that  there  is  a  medium  which  intervenes,  and  can  hard- 
ly be  said  to  perceive  it.  But  if  there  be  any  flaw  in  the  me- 
dium, if  we  see  through  it  but  dimly,  if  the  object  be  imper- 
fectly represented,  or  if  we  know  it  to  be  misrepresented,  our 
attention  is  immediately  taken  off  the  object  to  the  medium. 
We  are  then  desirous  to  discover  the  cause,  either  of  the  dim 
^iid  confused  representation,  or  of  the  misrepresentation  of 
things  which  it  exhibits,  that  so  the  defect  in  vision  may  be 
supplied  by  judgment.  The  case  of  language  is  precisely  sim- 
ilar. A  discouise,  then,  excels  in  perspicuity  when  the  sub- 
ject engrosses  the  attention  of  the  hearer,  and  the  diction  is 
so  little  minded  by  him  that,  he  can  scarcely  be  said  to  be  con- 
scious that  it  is  through  this  medium  he  sees  into  the  speaker's 
thoughts.  On  the  contrary,  the  least  obscurity,  ambiguity,  or 
confusion  in  the  style,  instantly  removes  the  attention  from 
tlie  sentiment  to  the  expression,  and  the  hearer  endeavours, 
by  the  aid  of  reflection,  to  correct  the  imperfections  of  the 
speaker's  language. 

iSo  much  for  obviating  the  objections  which  arc  frequently 
raised  against  such  remarks  as  1  have  already  maiie,  and 
shall  probably  hereafter  make  on  the  subject  of  language. 
The  elements  which  enter  into  the  composition  of  the  hugest 
bodies  are  subtile  and  inconsiderable.  The  rudiments  of  ev- 
ery art  and  science  exhibit,  at  first,  to  a  learner,  the  appear- 
ance of  littleness  and  insignificancy  ;  and  it  is  by  attending 
to  such  reflections  as  to  a  supt-rficial  observer  would  appear 
minute  and  hypercritical,  that  language  must  be  improved 
and  eloquence  perfected.! 

*  "Non  ut  intelligere  possit,  sed  ne  omnino  possit  non  intelligere  curan- 
dum." — Instil. ,[\h.vn\.,  cap.  ii. 

+  The  maxim  Natura  sr  potissimwn  prodil  in  minimis  is  not  confined  tc 
physiology. 


THE    PIIILOr-OPHY    OF   RHETORIC.  245 

I  return  to  the  causes  of  obscurity,  unci  shall  only  farther 
observe  couceniing^  the  cn'oct  of  b;u1  arnmgciucnr,  ilial  it  jrcn- 
erally  obscures  the  sense  even  when  it  doili  iini,  ay  in  the 
preceding  instances,  suggest  a  wrong  construction'.  Of  this 
the  following  will  suflice  for  an  ex;i!nplc  :  "  The  young  mnn 
did  not  want  natural  talents;  but  the  father  of  him  was  a 
coxcomb,  who  aflected  being  a  line  gentleman  so  unmerciful- 
ly, that  he  could  not  endure  in  his  sight,  or  the  lVe(]uent  mcn- 
iwn  of  one  who  was  his  son,  growing  into  manhood,  and 
thrusting  him  out  of  the  gay  world.'"*  It  is  not  easy  to  dis- 
entangle the  construction  of  this  sentence.  One  is  at  a  loss, 
at  first,  to  find  any  accusative  to  the  active  verb  endure;  on 
fartiier  examination,  it  is  discovered  to  have  two,  the  word 
mention  and  the  word  one,  which  is  here  closely  combined 
with  the  preposition  of,  and  makes  the  regimen  of  the  noun 
mention.  I  might  observe,  also,  the  vile  application  of  the 
word  unmcrcifuihj.  This,  together  with  the  irregularity  of 
the  reference  and  the  intricacy  of  the  whole,  renders  the  pas- 
sage under  consideration  one  of  those  whicii  may,  with  equrl 
justice,  be  ranked  under  solecism,  impropncii/,  obscurity,  or  in- 
eleirance. 

Paut  III.   From  usi77<r  the  same  Word  in  different  Senses. 

Another  source  of  obscurity  is  when  the  same  word  is  in 
the  same  sentence  used  in  diflerent  senses.  This  error  is 
exemplified  in  the  following  quotation  :  "That  he  should  be 
in  earnest  it  is  hard  to  conceive;  since  any  reasons  of  doubt 
which  he  might  have  in  this  case  would  have  been  reasons 
of  doubt  in  the  case  of  other  men,  who  may  give  more,  but 
cannot  give  more  evident,  signs  of  thought  than  tlioir  fellov/- 
creatures."!  This  errs  alike  against  perspicuity  and  ele- 
gance; the  word  more  is  first  an  adjective,  the  comparative 
of  many;  in  an  instant  it  is  an  adverb,  and  the  sign  of  the 
comparative  degree.  As  the  reader  is  not  apprized  of  this, 
the  sentence  must  appear  to  him,  on  the  first  glance,  a  fiat 
contradiction.  Perspicuously  either  thus,  "  Who  may  give 
more  tiumerous,  but  cannot  give  more  evident  signs,"  or  thus, 
"  Who  may  give  more,  but  cannot  give  clearer  .signs." 

It  is  but  seldom  that  tiie  same  pronoun  can  be  used  twice 
or  oftener  in  the  same  sentence,  in  reference  to  diflerent 
things,  without  darkening  the  expression.  It  is  necessary 
to  observe  here,  that  the  signification  of  the  personal,  as  well 
as  of  the  relative  pronouns,  and  even  of  the  adverbs  of  place 
and  time,  inust  be  determined  by  the  things  to  which  ilicy 
relate.  To  use  them,  therefore,  with  reference  to  (lilltTent 
things,  is  in  eftect  to  employ  the  same  woid  in  difl'erent  sen- 
ses, which,  when  it  occurs  in  the  same  sentence,  or  in  sen- 

»  Spect.,  ^;o.  IDG,  T.  t  Bolingb.  Ph.,  Es.  i.,  sect.  Lv 

X2 


246  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

tences  closelj'^  connected,  is  rarely  found  entirely  compatible 
with  perspicuity.  Of  this  I  slia'.l  give  some  examples.  "  One 
may  fmve  an  air  ivhicli  proceeds  from  a  just  sufficiency  and 
knowledge  of  the  matter  before  him,  whick  may  naturally  pro- 
duce some  motions  of  his  head  and  body,  ir/uV/t  might  become 
the  bench  better  than  the  bar."*  The  pronoun  loliich  is  here 
tiirice  used  in  three  several  senses ;  and  it  must  require  re- 
flection to  discover,  that  the  first  denotes  an  air,  the  second 
sufficiency  and  knowledge,  and  the  third  motions  of  the  head  and 
body.  Such  is  the  use  of  the  pronouns  those  and  luho  in  the 
following  sentence  of  the  same  writer:  "The  sharks,  icho 
prey  upon  the  inadvertency  of  young  heirs,  are  more  pardon- 
able than  those  who  trespass  upon  the  good  opinion  of  those 
ivho  treat  with  them  upon  the  foot  of  choice  and  respect."! 
The  same  fault  here  renders  a  very  short  sentence  at  once 
obscure,  inelegant,  and  unmusical.  The  like  use  of  the  pro- 
noun the7j  in  the  following  sentence  almost  occasions  an  am- 
biguity :  "  They  were  persons  of  such  moderate  intellects, 
even  before  they  were  impaired  by  their  passions. "J  The 
use  made  of  the  pronoun  it,  in  the  example  subjoined,  is  lia- 
ble to  the  same  exception  :  "  If  it  were  spoken  with  never  so 
great  skill  in  the  actor,  the  manner  of  uttering  that  sentence 
could  have  nothing  in  it  which  could  strike  any  but  people  of 
the  greatest  humanity,  nay,  people  elegant  and  skilful  in  ob- 
servations upon  u."^  To  the  preceding  examples  I  shall  add 
one  wherein  the  adverb  when,  by  being  used  in  the  same 
manner,  occasions  some  obscurity :  "  He  is  inspired  with  a 
true  sense  of  that  function,  ivhen  chosen  from  a  regard  to  the 
interests  of  piety  and  virtue,  and  a  scorn  of  whatever  men 
call  great  in  a  transitory  being,  when  it  comes  in  competition 
with  what  is  unchangeable  and  eternal. "H 

Part  IV.  From  an  uncertain  Reference  in  Pronouns  and  Rela- 
tives. 
A  cause  of  obscurity  also  arising  from  the  use  of  pronouns 
and  relatives  is  when  it  doth  not  appear  at  first  to  what  they 
i-efer.  Of  this  fault  I  shall  give  the  three  following  instan- 
ces :  "There  are  other  examples,"  says  Eolingbroke,  "  of  the 
same  kind,  which  cannot  be  brought  without  tlie  utmost  hor- 
ror, because  in  them  it  is  supposed  impiously,  against  prin- 
ciples as  self-evident  as  any  of  those  necessary  truths,  which 
are  such  of  all  knowledge,  that  the  Supreme  Being  commands 
by  one  law  what  he  forbids  by  another."*[f  It  is  not  so  clear 
as  it  ought  to  be  what  is  the  antecedent  to  such.  Another 
from  the  same  author:  "  The  laws  of  Nature  are  truly  what 
my  lord  Bacon  styles  his  aphorisms,  laws  of  laws.  7vivil 
laws  are  always  imperfect,  and  often  false  deductions  from 

«  Guardian,  No.  13.  *  Spect.,  No,  30,  |!  Guardian,  No.  13. 

+  Ibid.,  No.  73.  \  Ibid.,  No.  502.  f  Bolingb.  Phil.  Fr.,  20. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC,  247 

them,  or  applications  o[  ihem  ;  nay,  Mcy  stand  in  many  nistan 
ces  in  direct  opposition  to  them.'"*  It  is  not  quite  obvious, 
on  the  first  reading,  tiuit  the  pronoun  l/icm  in  this  passage 
doth  always  refer  to  tlie  laws  of  Nature,  and  i.'ioj  to  civil  laws. 
"  When  a  man  considers  the  state  of  his  own  mind,  abouu 
which  every  member  of  the  Christian  world  is  supposed  at 
this  time  to  be  employed,  he  will  fiud  that  the  best  defence 
against  vice  is  preserving  the  worthiest  part  of  his  own  spir- 
it pure  from  any  great  offence  against  H.'^f  It  must  be  own- 
ed that  the  darkness  of  this  sentence  is  not  to  be  imputed 
solely  to  the  pronoun. 

Part  V.  From,  too  artificial  a  Structure  of  the  Sentence. 
Another  cause  of  obscurity  is  when  the  structure  of  the 
sentence  is  too  much  complicated  or  too  artificial,  or  when 
the  sense  is  too  long  suspended  by  parentheses.  Some  crit- 
ics have  been  so  strongly  persuaded  of  the  bad  effect  of  pa- 
rentheses on  perspicuity  as  to  think  they  ought  to  be  discard- 
ed altogether.  But  this,  I  imagine,  is  also  an  extreme.  If 
the  parenthesis  be  short,  and  if  it  be  introduced  in  a  proper 
place,  It  will  not  in  the  least  hurt  the  clearness,  and  may  add 
both  to  the  vivacity  and  to  the  energy  of  the  sentence.  Oth- 
ers, again,  have  carried  their  dislike  to  the  parenthesis  only  so 
far  as  to  lay  aside  the  hooks  by  which  it  is  commonly  dis- 
tinguished, and  to  use  commas  in  their  place.  But  this  is  not 
avoiding  the  fault,  if  it  be  a  fault ;  it  is  only  endeavouring  to 
commit  it  so  as  to  escape  discovery,  and  may,  therefore,  be 
more  justly  denominated  a  corruption  in  writing  than  an  im- 
provement. Punctuation,  it.  will  readily  be  acknowledged,  is 
of  considerable  assistance  to  the  reading  and  pronunciation. 
No  part  of  a  sentence  requires  to  be  distinguished  by  the 
manner  of  pronouncing  it  more  than  a  parenthesis,  and,  con- 
sequently, no  part  of  a  sentence  ought  to  be  more  distinctly 
marked  in  the  pointing. 

Part  VI.  From  Technical  Terms. 
Another  source  of  darkness  in  composing  is  the  injudicious 
introduction  of  technical  words  and  phrases,  as  in  the  follow- 
ing passage : 

"Tack  to  the  larboard,  and  stand  off  to  sea, 
Veer  starboard  sea  and  land. "J 

What  an  absurd  profusion,  in  an  epic  poem  too,  of  terms 
which  few  besides  seamen  understand  !  In  strict  propriety, 
technical  words  should  not  be  considered  as  belonging  to  the 
language,  because  not  in  current  use,  nor  understood  by  the 
generality  even  of  readers.  They  are  but  the  peculiar  dia- 
lect of  a  particular  class.     When  those  of  that  class  only  are 

»  Phil.  Fr.,  9.  f  Guardian,  No.  19.  I  Drydeii's  iEneid. 


248  THE  rniLosopiiy  of  khetoric. 

addressed,  as  in  treatises  on  the  principles  of  their  art,  it  is 
admitted  that  the  use  of  such  terms  may  be  not  only  conve- 
nient, but  even  necessary.  It  is  allowable  also  in  ridicule, 
if  used  sparingly,  as  in  comedy  and  romance. 

Part  VII.  From  Long  Sentences. 

The  last  cause  of  obscurity  I  shall  take  notice  of  is  very 
long  sentences.  This  rarely  fails  to  be  conjoined  with  some 
of  the  other  faults  before  mentioned.  The  two  subsequent 
quotations  from  two  eminent  writers  will  serve  sufficiently 
to  exemplify  more  than  one  of  tliem.  'J'he  first  is  from  Bol- 
ingbroke's  Pliilosophy  :  "  Jf  we  are  so,  contrary  to  all  appear- 
ances (for  they  denote  plainly  one  single  system,  all  ihc 
parts  of  which  are  so  intimately  connected  and  dependant 
one  on  another,  that  the  whole  begins,  proceeds,  and  ends  to- 
gether), this  union  of  a  body  and  a  soul  must  be  magical  in- 
deed, as  Doctor  Cudworth  calls  it ;  so  magical  that  the  hy- 
pothesis serves  to  no  purpose  in  philosophy,  whatever  it  may 
do  in  theology  ^  and  is  still  less  comprehensible  than  the  hy- 
pothesis which  assumes  that,  although  our  idea  of  thought  be 
not  included  in  the  idea  of  matter  or  body,  as  the  idea  of  fig- 
ure is,  for  instance,  in  that  of  limited  extension,  yet  llie  fac- 
ulty of  thinking,  in  all  the  modes  of  thought,  may  have  been 
superadded  by  Omnipotence  to  certain  systems  of  matter, 
which  it  is  not  less  than  blasphemy  to  deny — tliough  divines 
and  philosophers  who  deny  it  in  terms  may  be  cited — and 
which,  v/hether  it  be  true  or  no,  will  never  be  proved  false 
by  a  little  metaphysical  jargon  about  essences,  and  attributes, 
and  modes."*  The  other  quotation  is  from  Swift's  letter  to 
the  Lord-high  Treasurer,  containing  a  proposal  for  correct- 
ing, improving,  and  ascertaining  the  English  tongue  :  '•  To 
this  succeeded  that  licentiousness  which  entered  with  the 
Restoration,  and  from  in.^'ecting  our  religion  and  morals,  fell 
to  corrupt  our  language  (which  last. was  not  like  to  be  much 
improved  by  those  who  at  thai  time  made  up  the  court  of 
King  Charles  the  Second  ;  either  such  who  had  follov/ed  him 
in  his  banishment,  or  who  had  been  altogether  conversant  in 
the  dialect  of  those  fanatic  times,  or  young  men  who  had 
been  educated  in  the  same  company),  so  that  the  court 
.  (which  used  to  be  the  standard  of  propriety  and  correctness 
of  speech)  was  then  (and,  1  think,  hath  ever  since  continued) 
the  worst  school  in  England  for  that  accomplishment,  and  so 
v/ill  remain  till  better  care  be  taken  in  the  education  of  our 
young  nobility,  that  they  may  set  out  into  the  world  with 
some  foundation  of  literature,  in  order  to  qualify  them  for 
patterns  of  politeness."  There  are,  indeed,  cases  in  Vv'liich 
even  a  long  period  v/ill  not  create  obscurity.     When  tlus 

♦  Essay  i.,  seclion  it 


THK    PHILOSOniY    OF    KH  !:T<  uUr.  219 

happens,  il  may  almost  always  be  remarked,  tliat  all  ihc  pim- 
cipal  members  of  the  period  are  simihir  in  llieir  structure, 
and  would  CDiisliUiic  so  many  distinct  sentences  if  lliey  were 
not  united  by  their  reference  to  some  common  clause  in  tho 
beginning  or  the  end. 


/^ 


SECTION  II. 

THE    DOUBLE   MEANING. 

It  was  obrserved  that  perspicuity  might  be  violated  not 
only  by  obscurity,  but  alscj  by  double  meaning.  The  fault 
in  this  case  is,  not  that  tlie  sentence  conveys  darkly  or  im- 
perfectly the  autlior's  meaning,  but  that  it  conveys  also  some 
other  meaning  which  is  not  the  author's.  His  words  are  sus- 
ceptible of  more  than  one  interpretation.  When  this  hap- 
pens, it  is  always  occasioned  either  by  using  some  expression 
which  is  equivocal — that  is,  hath  more  meanings  than  one  af- 
fixed to  it,  or  by  ranging  the  words  in  such  an  order  that  the 
construction  is  rendered  equivocal,  or  made  to  exhibit  differ- 
ent senses.  To  the  former,  for  distinction's  sake,  I  shall  as 
sign  the  name  of  equivocation;  to  tlic  latter  I  shall  appro- 
priate that  of  ambiguity. 

Part  I.  Equivocation. 

I  begin  with  the  first.  When  the  word  equivocation  de- 
notes, as  in  common  htnguage  it  generally  denotes,  the  use 
of  an  equivocal  word  or  phrase,  or  other  ambiguitj%  with  an 
intention  to  deceive,  it  doth  not  differ  essentially  from  a  lie. 
This  offence  falls  under  the  reproof  of  tlie  moralist,  not  the 
censure  of  the  rhetorician.  Again,  when  the  word  denotes, 
as  agreeably  to  etymology  it  may  denote,  that  exercise  of 
wit  which  consisteth  in  the  playful  use  of  any  term  or  phrase 
in  diiferent  senses,  and  is  denominated  pun,  it  is  amenable, 
indeed,  to  the  tribunal  of  criticism,  but  cannot  be  regarded 
as  a  violation  of  the  laws  of  perspicuity.  It  is  neither  with 
the  liar  nor  with  t!ie  punster  that  1  am  concerned  at  present. 
The  only  species  of  equivocation  that  comes  under  reprehen- 
sion here  is  that  which  takes  place  when  an  author  undesign- 
edly employs  an  expression  susceptible  of  a  sense  difTcrcnt 
from  tlie  sense  he  intends  to  convey  by  it. 

In  order  to  avoid  this  fault,  no  writer  or  speaker  can  think 
of  disusing  all  the  homonymous  terms  of  the  language,  or  all 
such  as  have  more  than  one  signification.  To  attempt  tiiis 
in  any  tongue,  ancient  or  modern,  would  be  to  attempt  the 
aimihilation  of  the  greater  part  of  the  language  ;  for  in  every 
language,  the  words  strictly  univocal  will  be  found  to  be  tho 
smaller  number.  But  it  must  bo  admitted,  as  a  rule  in  elo- 
cution, that  equivocal  terms  ought  ever  to  be  avoided,  unless 
where  their  connexion  with  the  other  words  of  the  seutenco 


250  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    KHETORIC, 

instantlj^  ascertains  the  meaning-.  This,  indeed,  the  connex- 
ion is  oi'ten  so  capable  of  afTcctino;,  that  the  hearer  will  never 
reflect  that  the  word  is  equivocal,  the  true  sense  being  the 
only  sense  which  the  expression  suggests  to  his  mind.  Thus 
the  word  found  signifies  both  the  sum  of  Iwenly  shillings  ster- 
ling and  the  weight  oi  sixteen  minces  avoirdupois.  Now  if  you 
tell  me  that  you  rent  a  house  at  fifty  pojinds,  or  that  you  have 
bought  fifty  pounds  of  meat  in  the  market,  the  idea  of  weight 
will  never  present  itself  to  my  min'd  in  the  one  case,  or  the 
idea  of  money  in  the  other.  But  it  frequently  happens,  through 
the  inadvertency  of  writers,  that  the  connected  words  in  the 
sentence  do  not  immediately  ascertain  the  sense  of  the  equiv- 
ocal term  ;  and  though  an  intelligent  reader  may  easily  find 
the  sense  on  reflection  and  with  the  aid  of  the  context,  we 
may  lay  it  down  as  a  maxim,  that  an  author  always  oflTends 
against  perspicuity  when  his  style  requires  that  reflection 
from  his  reader.  But  I  shall  proceed  to  illustrate  by  exam- 
ples the  fault  of  which  I  am  treating.  An  equivocation,  then, 
may  be  either  in  a  single  word  or  in  a  phrase. 

As  to  the  former,  there  is  scarcely  any  of  the  parts  of 
speech  in  which  you  will  not  find  equivocal  terms.  To  be- 
gin with  particles  :  the  preposition  «/' denotes  sometimes  the 
relation  which  any  affection  bears  to  its  subject ;  that  is,  the 
person  whose  affection  it  is ;  sometimes  the  relation  which 
it  bears  to  its  object.  Hence  this  expression  of  the  apostle 
hath  been  observed  to  be  equivocal :  "  I  am  persuaded  that 
neither  death  nor  life — shall  be  able  to  separate  us  from  the 
love  of  God."*  By  the  love  of  God.,  say  interpreters,  may  be 
understood  either  God's  love  to  us,  or  our  love  to  God.  It  is  re- 
markable, that  the  geaitive  case  in  the  ancient  languageii, 
and  the  prepositions  corresponding  to  that  case  in  the  mod- 
ern languages,  are  alike  susceptible  of  this  double  meaning. 
Only  as  to  our  own  language,  we  may  observe  in  passing, 
that  of  late  the  preposition  of  is  more  commonly  put  before 
the  subject,  and  to  before  the  object  of  the  passion.  But  this 
is  not  the  only  way  in  which  the  preposition  of  may  be  equiv- 
ocal. As  it  sometimes  denotes  the  relation  of  t.he  eff'ect  to 
the  cause,  sometimes  that  of  the  accident  to  the  subject,  from 
this  duplicity  of  signification  there  will  also,  in  certain  cir 
cumstances,  arise  a  double  sense.  You  have  an  example  in 
these  words  of  Swift :  "  A  little  after  the  reformation  0/ Lu- 
ther."! It  may,  indeed,  be  doubted  whether  this  sliould  not 
rather  be  called  an  impropriety,  since  the  reformation  of  a 
man  will  suggest  much  more  readily  a  change  wrought  on  the 
man  than  a  change  wrought  bi/  him.  And  the  former  of  these 
senses  it  could  not  more  readily  suggest,  if  the  expression  in 
that  sense  were  not  more  conformable  to  use. 

►  Romans,  vii.,  33,  &c.  t  Mechan.  Operat. 


THE    PHILOSOniY    OF    niiETORIC.  251 

My  next  instance  shall  be  in  the  conjunctions  :  "  Tliey 
were  both  much  more  ancient  among  the  Persians  tlian  Zo- 
roaster or  Zerchisht."*  The  or  here  is  equivocal.  It  serves 
either  as  a  copulative  to  synonymous  words,  or  as  a  disjunc- 
tive of  different  things.  If,  therefore,  the  reader  should  jiot 
know  that  Zoroaster  and  Zerdusht  mean  the  same  person,  he 
will  mistake  the  sense.  In  coupling  appellatives,  there  is 
not  the  same  liazard,  it  being  generally  manifest  to  those 
who^know  the  language  whether  the  words  coupled  have  the 
same  signification.  If,  nevertlieless,  in  any  case  it  should  be 
doubtful,  an  attention  to  the  ensuing  rules  may  have  its  util- 
ity. If  the  first  noun  follows  an  article  or  a  prepusiiion,  or 
both,  the  article  or  the  preposition,  or  botli,  should  be  re- 
peated before  the  second,  when  tlie  two  nouns  are  intended 
to  denote  different  things,  and  should  not  be  repeated  wlicn 
they  are  intended  to  denote  the  same  thing.  If  there  be 
neither  article  nor  preposition  before  the  first,  and  if  it  be 
the  intention  of  the  writer  to  use  the  particle  o/- disjunctively, 
let  the  first  noun  be  preceded  by  either.,  which  will  infallibly 
ascertain  the  meaning.  On  the  contrary,  if,  in  such  a  du- 
bious case,  it  be  his  design  to  use  the  particle  as  a  copulative 
to  synonymous  words,  the  piece  will  rarely  sustain  a  mate- 
rial injury  by  his  omitting  both  the  conjunction  and  the  sy- 
nonyma. 

The  following  is  an  example  in  the  pronouns  :  "  She  united 
the  great  body  of  the  people  in  her  and  their  common  inter- 
est."! 'i'he  word  her  may  be  either  the  possessive  pronoun, 
or  the  accusative  case  of  the  personal  pronoun.  A  very 
small  alteration  in  the  order  totally  removes  tiie  doubt.  Say, 
'•  in  their  and  her  common  interest."  The  word  her,  thus 
connected,  can  be  only  the  possessive,  as  the  author  doubt- 
less intended  it  should  be,  in  the  passage  quoted. 

An  example  in  substantives :  "  Your  majesty  has  lost  all 
hopes  of  any  future  excises  by  their  consuinption.'''X  The 
word  consumption  has  both  an  active  sense  and  a  passive.  It 
means  either  the  act  of  consuming,  or  the  state  of  being  con- 
sumed. Clearly  thus  :  "  Your  majesty  has  lost  all  hopes  of 
levying  any  future  excises  on  what  they  shall  consume." 

In  adjectives  :  "As  for  such  animals  as  are  mortal  or  nox 
ious,  we  have  a  right  to  destroy  them.'"'^  Here  the  false 
sense  is  suggested  more  readily  than  the  true.  The  word 
mortal,  therefore,  in  this  sentence,  might  justly  be  coirsidered 
as  improper  ;  for  though  it  sometimes  means  destructive  or 
causing  death,  it  is  then  almost  invariably  joined  with  some 
noun  expressive  of  hurt  or  danger.  Thus  we  say  a  mortal 
poison,  a  mortal  xvound,  a  mortal  disease,  or  a  mortal  enemy  ;  but 

♦  Bol.  Subst.  of  Letters  to  .M.de  Pouilly. 

t  Idea  of  a  Patriot  King.  J  Guardian,  No.  52. 

if  Guardian,  No.  01. 


252  Tiin  PHILOSOPHY  of  nnKTORic. 

the  phrases  mortal  creature,  mortal  animaL  or  mortal  man.  are 
always  understood  to  imply  creature,  auimal,  or  man,  liable 
to  death. 

In  verbs :  "  The  next  refuge  was  to  say,  it  was  overloohcd 
by  one  man,  and  many  passngos  wholly  written  by  another."* 
The  word  overlooked  sometimes  signifies  revised  and  some- 
times neglected.  As  it  seems  to  be  in  the  former  sense  tliat 
this  participle  is  used  here,  the  word  revised  ouglit  to  have 
been  preferred.  Another  instance  in  verbs  :  '■  I  have  furbish- 
ed the  house  exactly  according  to  your  fancy,  or,  if  yeni 
please,  my  own ;  for  I  have  long  since  learned  to  like  no- 
thing but  what  you  c/o."t  The-word  do  in  this  passage  may  be 
eitlier  the  auxiliary,  or,  as  it  might  be  termed,  llie  supplement 
ary  verb,  and  be  intended  only  to  supersede  the  repetition  of 
the  verb  like  ;  or  it  may  be  the  simple  active  verb,  which  an- 
swers to  the  Latin /ffcere,  and  'he  French  fair e. 

In  the  next  quotation  the  homonymous  term  may  be  either 
an  adjective  or  an  adverb,  and  admits  a  different  sense  in  each 
acceptation  : 

"  Not  only  Jesuits  can  eq!avocate."t 
If  the  word  ordij  is  here  an  adverb,  the  sense  is,  "  To  equivo- 
cate is  not  the  only  thing  that  Jesuits  can  do."  This  inter- 
pretation, though  not  the  author's  meaning,  suits  the  con- 
struction. A  very  small  alteration  in  the  o^'der  gives  a  prop- 
er and  unequivocal,  though  a  prosaic  expression  of  this  sense  : 
"'Jesuits  ca'.i  not  only  equivocate."  Again,  if  the  word  only 
is  here  an  adjective  (and  this,  doubtless,  is  the  author's  in- 
tention), the  sense  is,  "  Jesuits  are  not  the  only  persons  who 
can  equivocate."  But  this  interpretation  suits  ill  the  compo- 
sition of  the  sentence.  The  only  other  instance  of  this  error 
in  single  words  I  shall  produce,  is  one  in  which,  on  the  tiret 
glance,  there  appears  room  to  doubt  whetlier  a  particular 
term  ought  to  be  understood  literally  or  metaphorical!]/.  The 
word  handled  in  the  folio v/ing  passage  will  illustrate  what  I 
mean  :  "  Thus  much  I  thought  fit  to  premise  before  I  resume 
the  subject,  Avhich  I  liave  already  handled — I  mean,  the  iiaked 
bosoms  of  our  British  ladies. 'a)  Sometimes,  indeed,  a  thing 
like  this  may  be  said  ai-chly  and  of  design,  in  which  case  it 
falls  not  under  this  animadversion. 

It  was  remarked  above,  that  there  are  not  only  equivocal 
words  jn  our  language,  but  equivocal  phrases.  Not  the  least 
and  not  the  smallest  are  of  this  kind.  They  are  sometimes 
made  to  imply  not  any ;  as  though  one  should  say,  not  even 
the  least,  not  so  much  as  the  smallest ;  and  sometimes,  again,  to 
signify  a  very  great,  as  though  it  were  expressed  in  this  man- 
ner,/ar /row*  being  the  least  or  smallest.     Thus  they  are  sus- 

♦  Spect.,  No.  19.  t  Spect .  No.  627. 

}  Dryden's  Hind  and  Panther.  ^  "^  ^^o  1  y& 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETOniC.  253 

ceptible  of  two  significations  tliat  are  not  only  (lifToront,  but 
contrary.  \Vc  have  an  iristance  in  tlio  following  iJassage  : 
"  Your  character  of  universal  puardian.  joined  to  Ilie  concern 
you  ought  to  have  for  the  cause  of  virtue  and  religion,  assure 
me  3'ou  will  not  think  that  clergymen,  when  injurc^d,  have  the 
least  right  to  your  protection."'  This  sentence  halii  also  the 
disadvantage  taken  notice  of  in  some  of  the  preceding  quota- 
tions, that  the  sense  not  intended  by  the  writer  occurs  to  the 
reader  much  more  readily  than  the  aullior's  retil  meaning. 
Niihiug  less  than  is  another  phrase  which,  like  the  two  for- 
mer, is  susceptible  of  opposite  interpretations.  Thus,  "  He 
aimed  at  nothins;  less  than  tiie  crown,"  may  denote  either, 
"  Nothing  was  less  aimed  at  by  him  than  the  crown,"  or 
"  Nothing  inferior  to  the  crown  could  satisfy  his  ambition." 
All  such  phrases  ought  to  be  totally  laid  aside.  The  expres- 
sion jcill  have  mercy  is  equivocal  in  the  following  passage  ol 
the  vulgar  translation  of  the  Bible:  "I  will  have  merci/,  ami 
not  sacrifice."!  The  expression  commonly  denotes  "I  wili 
exercise  mercy  ;"  whereas  it  is  in  this  place  employed  to  sig- 
nify "  I  require  others  to  exercise  it."  The  sentiment,  there- 
fore, ouglit  to  have  been  rendered  here,  as  we  find  it  express 
ed  in  the  prophetical  book  alluded  to,  "1  desire  mercy,  and 
not  sacrifice."!  When  the  phrase  iu  question  happens  to  be 
followed  by  the  prepositioii  on  or  upon  before  the  object,  there 
is  nothing  equivocal  iu  it,  the  sense  being  ascertained  by  the 
connexion. 

So  much  for  equivocal  words  and  phrases.   _/ 

Part  II.  Ambiguity.  '    < 

I  come  now  to  consider  that  species  of  do'ihle  mcamng 
which  ariseth,  not  from  the  use  of  equivocal  terms,  but  sole- 
ly from  the  construction,  and  which  I  therefore  distinguish 
by  the  name  of  ambiguily.  This,  of  all  the  faults  against  per- 
spicuity, it  is  in  all  languages  the  most  difficult  to  avoid. 
There  is  not  one  of  the  parts  of  speech  wliich  may  not  be  so 
placed  as  that,  agreeably  to  the  rules  of  grammar,  it  may  be 
construed  with  different  parts  of  the  sentence,  and,  by  conse- 
quence, made  to  exhibit  different  senses.  Besides,  a  writer 
intent  upon  his  subject  is  less  apt  to  advert  to  those  imper- 
fections in  his  style  wliich  occasion  ambiguity  than  to  any 
other.  As  no  term  or  phrase  he  employs  doth  of  itself  sug- 
gest the  false  meaning,  a  manner  of  construing  his  words 
diflferent  from  that  which  is  expressive  of  his  sentiment  will 
not  so  readily  occur  to  his  thoughts;  and  yet. this  erroneous 
manner  of  construing  them  may  be  the  most  obvious  to  the 
reader.  I  shall  give  examples  of  ambiguities  in  most  of  the 
parts  of  speech,  beginning  with  the  pronouns. 

-   Guardian,  No.  60  +  Matt.,  ix.,  13  %  PIos  ,  vi.,  6. 

Y 


254  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

As  this  signification  of  the  pronouns  (which  by  themselves 
express  only  some  relation)  is  ascertained  merely  by  the  an- 
tecedent to  which  they  refer,  the  greatest  care  must  l)e  taken, 
if  we  would  express  ourselves  perspicuously,  that  the  refer- 
ence be  unquestionable.  Yet  the  j:;reatest  care  on  this  arti- 
cle will  not  always  be  effectual.  There  are  no  rules  which 
either  have  been,  or,  I  suspect,  can  be  devised  in  any  lan- 
guage, that  will  in  all  circumstances  fix  the  relations  of  the 
pronouns  in  such  a  manner  as  to  prevent  ambiguity  altogeth- 
er. I  shall  instance  first  the  pronoun  ivhn,  begging  that  the 
reader  will  observe  its  application  in  the  two  following  sen- 
tences :  "  Solomon,  the  son  of  David,  who  built  the  temple  of 
Jerusalem,  was  the  richest  monarch  that  ever  reigned  over 
the  people  of  God ;"  and  ''  vSolomon,  the  son  of  David,  ivho 
was  persecuted  by  Saul,  was  the  richest  monarch — "  In 
these  two  sentences,  the  tuho  is  similarly  situated  ;  yet  in  the 
former  it  relates  to  the  person  first  mentioned,  in  the  latter,  to 
the  second.  But  this  relation  to  the  one  or  to  the  other  it 
would  be  impossible  for  any  reader  to  discover  who  had  not 
some  previous  knowledge  of  the  history  of  those  kings.  In 
sucli  cases,  therefore,  it  is  better  to  give  another  turn  to  the 
sentence.  Instead  of  the  first,  one  might  say,  "  Solomon, 
the  son  of  David,  and  the  builder  of  the  temple  of  Jerusalem, 
was  the  richest  monarch."  'J'he  conjunction  and  makes  the 
following  words  relate  entirely  to  Solomon,  as  nolliing  had 
been  affirmed  concerning  David.  It  is  more  difficult  to  avoid 
the  ambiguity  in  the  oiher  instance,  without  adopting  some 
circumlocution  that  will  fiatten  the  expression.  In  the  style 
that  prevailed  in  this  island  about  two  centuries  ago,  they 
would  have  escaped  the  ambiguous  construction  in  some 
such  way  as  this  :  "  Solomon,  the  son  of  David,  even  of  him 
whom  Saul  persecuted,  was  the  richest — "  But  this  phrase- 
ology has  to  modern  ears  I  knov/  not  what  air  of  formality, 
that  renders  it  intolerable.  Better  thus  :  "  Solomon,  whose 
father  David  was  persecuted  by  Saul,  was  the  richest — " 
The  following  quotation  exhibits  a  triple  sense,  arising  from 
the  same  cause,  the  indeterminate  use  of  the  relative  : 
"  Such  were  the  centaurs  of  Ixion's  lace, 
Who  a  briyht  cloud  for  Juno  did  embrace."'* 

Was  it  the  centaurs,  or  Ixion,  or  his  race,  that  embraced  the 
cloud?  I  cannot  help  observing  farther  on  this  passage,  that 
the  relative  ought  grammalicaiiy,  for  a  reason  to  be  assigned 
afterward,  rather  to  refer  to  centaurs  than  to  eitl}€r  of  the 
other  two,  and  least  of  all  to  Ixion,  to  which  it  was  intended 
to  refer.f 

♦  Beiiham's  Progress  of  Learning. 

t  Let  it  not  be  imagined  that  in  this  particular  our  tongue  has  Ihedisad 
vantage  of  other  languages.  The  same  difficulty,  as  far  as  my  acquaint- 
ance with  them  reaches,  affects  them  all,  and  even  some  modern  tongues  in 


THE    PHILOSOPIIV    OF   RHETORIC.  2b'0 

But  there  is  often  an  ambiguity  in  tlie  relatives  70J10,  ukirh, 
that,  whose,  and  whom,  even  when  there  can  be  no  doubt  in 
regard  to  the  antecedent.  Tliis  arises  from  the  dillVrcnt 
ways  vvljerein  the  latter  is  affected  by  the  former.  'J'o  ex- 
press myself  in  the  language  of  grammarians,  these  pronouns 
are  sometimes  explicative,  sometimes  determinative.  They 
are  explicative  when  they  serve  merely  for  the  illustration 
of  the  subject,  by  pointing  out  either  some  property  or  some 
circumstance  belonging  to  it,  leaving  it,  however,  to  be  un- 
derstood in  its  full  extent.  Of  this  kind  are  the  following 
examples  :  "  Man,  who  is  born  of  woman,  is  of  few  days  and 
full  of  trouble" — "  Godliness,  which  with  contentment  is  great 
gain,  has  the  promise  both  of  the  present  life  and  of  the  fu- 
ture." The  clause  "  who  is  born  of  woman."  in  the  first  ex- 
ample, and  "  which  with  contentment  is  great  gain,"  in  the 
second,  point  to  certain  properties  in  the  antecedents,  but  do 
not  restrain  their  signification.  For,  should  we  omit  these 
clauses  altogether,  we  could  say  with  equal  truth,  "  Man  is 
of  few  days  and  full  of  trouble" — "  Godliness  ha:;  llie  promise 
both  of  the  present  life  and  of  the  future."  On  the  other 
hand,  these  pronouns  are  determinative  wlicn  they  are  em- 
ployed to  limit  the  import  of  the  antecedent,  as  in  these  in- 
stances :  "  The  man  that  endureth  to  the  end  sliall  be  saved'' — 
"The  remorse  which  issues  in  reformation  is  true  repentance." 
Each  of  the  relatives  here  confines  the  signification  of  its  an- 
tecedent to  such  only  as  are  possessed  of  the  qualification 
mentioned.  For  it  is  not  aflirmed  of  every  man  that  he  shall 
be  saved,  nor  of  all  remorse  that  it  is  true  repentance. 

From  comparing  the  above  examples,  it  may  be  fairly  col- 
lected, that  with  us  the  definite  article  is  of  great  use  for  dis- 
criminating the  explicative  sense  from  the  determinative.  In 
the  first  case  it  is  rarely  used,  in  the  second  it  ought  never 
to  be  omitted,  unless  when  something  still  more  definitive, 
such  as  a  demonstrative  pronoun,  supplies  its  place.*     The 

a  higher  degree  than  ours.  In  English,  one  is  never  at  a  loss  to  discover 
whether  the  reference  be  to  persons  or  to  things.  In  French  and  Ilahan  the 
expression  is  often  ambit^uons  in  this  respect  also.  In  a  French  devrticnal 
book  1  find  this  pious  admonition  :  '•  Conservez-vous  dans  Tamou'de  J)ien, 
qui  peut  vons  gnrantir  de  toute  chute."  I  ask  whether  the  antecedent  here 
be  I'amouT  or  Dieu,  since  the  relative  qici  is  of  such  extensive  import  as  to  be 
applicable  to  either.  The  expression  wrould  be  equally  ambiguous  in  Ital- 
ian :  "  Conservalevi  nell'  amor  di  Dio,  che  vi  puo  conservare  senza  intoppo.'" 
In  English,  according  to  the  present  use,  there  would  be  no  ambiguity  in 
the  e.tpression.  If  tlie  author  meant  to  ascribe  thi.s  energy  to  the  devout  af- 
fection itself,  he  woul'l  say,  "  Keep  yourselves  in  the  love  of  liod,  xi'htch  can 
preserve  you  from  falling  ;"  if  to  God,  the  great  object  of  our  love,  ho  would 
say,  "Wiocan  preserve  you."  This  convenient  distinction  was  not,  how- 
ever, uniformly  observed  with  us  till  about  the  middle  of  the  last  ci?ntury. 

*  In  this  respect  the  articles  are  more  subservient  to  perspicuity  iu  our 
tongue  than  in  many  others.  In  French,  a  writer  must  give  the  article  in 
dL«criaiinately  in  all  the  instances  above  specified.     Thus,  "  L'homme,  qui 


256  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OK    rvHETORIC. 

following  passage  is  faulty  in  this  respect :  "  I  know  that  all 
icords  lohick  are  signs  of  complex  ideas,  fnrnish  matter  of  mis- 
take and  cavil."*  As  words,  the  antecedent,  has  neither  the 
article  nor  a  demonstrative  pronoun  to  connect  it  wiili  the 
subsequent  relative,  it  would  seem  that  the  clause  "  which 
are  signs  of  complex  ideas"  were  merely  explicative,  and 
that  the  subject  words  were  to  be  understood  in  the  utmost 
latitude.  This  could  not  be  the  writer's  sense,  as  it  would 
be  absurd  to  affirm  of  all  words  that  they  are  signs  of  com- 
plex ideas.  He  ought,  therefore,  to  have  said,  either  "  I 
know  that  all  tlie  words  iDhich  are  signs  of  complex  ideas," 
or  "  I  know  that  all  those  words  which  are  signs — "  Either 
of  these  ways  makes  tlie  clause  beginning  with  the  relative 
serve  to  limit  the  import  of  the  antecedent. 

There  are  certain  cases,  it  must  be  owned,  wherein  the 
antecedent  would  require  the  article,  even  though  the  relative 
were  intended  solely  for  explication,  as  in  these  words  of  the 
Psalmist :  "  My  goodness  extendeth  not  to  thee,  but  to  the 
saints  and  to  the  excellent  ones,  in  whom  is  all  my  delight."t 
The  last  clause  is  probably  not  restrictive,  the  words  saints 
and  excellent  ones  necessarily  requiring  the  article.  Now, 
when  such  antecedents  are  followed  by  a  determinative,  they 
ought,  for  distinction's  sake,  to  be  attended  with  the  demon- 
strative pronoun,  as  thus  :  "  But  to  those  saints,  and  to  those 
excellent  ones  in  lohom — " 

Through  not  attending  to  this  circumstance,  the  translators 
of  the  Bible  have  rendered  the  followmg  passage  ambiguous, 
even  in  regard  to  the  antecedent :  "  There  stood  by  me  this 

est  no  de  la  femme,  vit  ties  peu  de  terns,  et  il  est  rempli  de  iniseres  ;"  and 
"  L'homuie,  qoi  perseverera  ju&qu'ii  la  fin,  sera  sauve."  In  like  manner, 
"La  piete,  qui  jointe  avcc  le  contentement  est  v.n  grand  gain,  a  les  pro- 
messes  de  la  vie  presente,  ct  de  celie  qui  est  a  venir ;"  and  "  Le  retnords  qui 
aboutii  a  !a  reformation,  est  le  vrai  repeniir."  The  like  indistinctness  will 
be  found  to  obtain  in  Italian  and  some  other  modern  languages,  and  arises, 
in  a  great  measure,  from  their  giving  the  article  almost  invariably  to  ab- 
stracts. In  some  instances  llmre  appears  of  late  a  tendency  in  writers,  es- 
pecially on  politics,  to  give  up  this  advantage  entii-ely  ;  not  by  adding  the  ar- 
ticle to  abstracts,  but  (which  equally  destroys  the  distinction)  by  omitting 
il  when  the  term  has  a  particular  application.  How  often  do  we  now  litxl, 
even  in  books,  ■.'such  phrases  as  the  following?  "  This  was  an  undertaking 
too  arduous  for  private  persons  imaided  by  government" — "It  is  hard  to  say 
what  measure  administration  vvill  next  adopt."  As  in  l)olh  cases  it  is  the 
present  government  and  the  present  administration  of  the  country  of  the 
author  that  is  meant,  these  nouns  ought  to  have  the  definite  article  prefixed 
to  them,  and  can  scarcely  be  called  English  without  it.  The  former  of 
these  words  is  indeed  frequently  used  in  the  abstract,  in  which  case  it  nev- 
er has  the  article,  as  thus  :  "Government  is  absolutely  necessary  in  all  civil- 
ized societies" — "He  published  tracts  on  various  subjects,  on  religion,  gov- 
ernment, trade,"  &c.  Abuses,  such  as  that  here  criticised,  greatly  hurtful 
to  perspicuity  and  precision,  arise  first  in  conversation,  thence  they  creep 
into  newspapers,  thence  into  pamphlets,  and  at  last  unwarily  lind  admission 
into  books. 

*  Boliugbroke's  Dissertations  on  Parties,  Let.  xii.         t  Psalm  xvi..  2,  3 


THE  rniLosorny  of  kiietohic  25*7 

/light  tlie  angel  of  Go;l,  whose  I  am,  .md  w/imn  1  scn-e."* 
The  rehitivcs  liere,  ichoac  and  ivhorn,  refer  more  vefruhirly  to 
angel  than  to  God.  This,  however,  is  not  agreeable  to  llio 
sense  of  the  apostle.  The  words,  therefore,  oiig^it  to  have 
been  translated,  "An  angel  of  l/ie  God,"  or  "of  t/ici'  God, 
iv/iDse  I  am,  and  ichom  I  serve  ;"f  for  thougli  the  term  God,  in 
strict  propriet}',  can  bt  applied  oidy  to  one,  and  may  there- 
fore 1)0  thouglit  to  stand  on  the  same  footing  with  proper 
names,  it  is,  in  the  common  way  of  using  it,  an  a|)pellative, 
and  follows  the  construction  of  appellatives.  Tlius  wc  say, 
"  the  God  of  Abraham,''  "  the  God  of  armies."  Besides,  Paul, 
in  tlie  passage  quoted,  was  speaking  to  heathens;  and  ihis 
circumstance  gives  an  additional  propriety  to  the  article. 

For  an  instance  of  ambiguity  in  the  construction  of  the 
pronoun  /ns,  I  shall  borrow  an  example  from  a  French  gram 
raarian  ;I  for  though  an  equivocal  word  can  rarely  be  trans- 
lated by  an  equivocal  word,  it  is  very  easy,  when  two  lan- 
guages have  a  considerable  degree  of  similarity  in  their 
structure  and  analogy,  to  transfer  an  ambiguity  from  one  lo 
the  other.  The  instance  I  mean  is  this  :  "  Lysias  promised 
to  his  father  never  to  abandon  his  friends."  Were  they  his 
own  friends,  or  his  father's,  whom  Lysias  promised  never  to 
abandon  ?  This  sentence,  rendered  literally,  would  be  am- 
biguous in  most  modern  tungues.'^  In  the  earliest  and  sim- 
plest times,  ihs  dramatic  manner  in  which  jjcople  were  ac- 
customed to  relate  the  plainest  facts,  served  effectually  to 
exclude  all  ambiguities  of  this  sort  from  their  writings. 
They  would  have  said,  "  Lj'sias  gave  a  promise  to  his  father 
in  these  words,  i  will  never  abandon  ?»y  /We/ir/s,"  if  they  were 
his  own  friends  of  whom  he  spoke  ;  '■'■  your  friends.^''  if  they 
were  his  father's.  It  is,  I  think,  lo  be  regretted,  that  the 
moderns  have  too  much  departed  from  this  primitive  simpli- 
city. It  doth  not  want  some  advantages  besides  tiiat  of  \xv- 
spicuity.  It  is  often  more  picturesque,  as  well  as  more  affect- 
ing ;  though  it  must  be  owned,  it  requires  so  many  words, 
and  such  frequent  repetitions  of  Ae  said,  he  ansicered,  and  the 
like,  that  the  dialogue,  if  long,  is  very  apt  to  grow  irksoine. 
But  it  is  at  least  pardonable  to  adopt  this  method  occasional- 
ly, where  it  can  serve  to  remove  an  ambiguity.  As  the  turn 
vvliich  Bufiier  gives  the  sentence  in  French,  in  order  to  avoid 
the  double  meaning,  answers  equally  well  in  English,  I  siiall 
hero  literally  translate  it.  On  the  first  supposition,  "  Lysias, 
speaking  of  his  friends,  promised  to  his  father  never  to  aban- 
don them."    Ou  the  second  supposition,  "  Lysias,  speaking  of 

■*  .A.Cts,  xxvii.,  23.  t  AyvtXoj  rov  Qcov,  cv  ciui  Kai  a  XaT/;«uu». 

t  Buffier. 

<j  Itwould  not  be  ambiguous  in  Latin.  The  distinction  which  oblains  in 
that  tongue  between  the  pronouns  suus  and  ejus,  would  totally  preclude  all 
doubt. 

Y  2 


25S  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OP    RHETORIC. 

his  father's  friends,  promised  to  his  father  never  to  abandon 
them."* 

It  is  easy  to  conceive  that,  in  numberless  instances,  the 
pronoun  he  will  in  hke  manner  be  ambiguous  when  two  or 
more  males  happen  to  be  mentioned  in  the  same  clause  of  a 
sentence.  In  such  a  case,  we  ought  always  either  to  give 
another  turn  to  the  expression,  or  to  use  the  noun  itself,  and 
not  the  pronoun  ;  for  when  the  repetition  of  a  word  is  neces- 
sary, it  is  not  offensive.  The  translators  of  the  Bible  liave 
ofien  judiciously  used  this  method  ;  I  say  judiciously,  because, 
though  the  other  method  be  on  some  occasions  preferable, 
yet,  by  attempting  the  other,  they  would  have  run  a  much 
greater  risk  of  destroying  that  beautiful  simplicity,  which  is 
an  eminent  characteristic  of  the  language  of  Holy  Writ.  I 
shall  take  an  instance  from  the  speech  of  Judah  to  his  brother 
Joseph  in  Egypt :  "  We  said  to  ni}''  lord,  The  lad  cannot  leave 
his  father ;  for  if  he  should  leave  his  father,  his  father  would 
die."f  The  words  his  father  are  m  this  short  verse  thrice  re- 
peated, and  yet  are  not  disagreeable,  as  they  contribute  to 
perspicuity.  Had  the  last  part  of  the  sentence  run  thus,  "  If 
he  should  leave  his  father,  he  would  die,"  it  would  not  have 
appeared  from  the  expression  whether  it  was  the  child  or  the 
parent  that  would  die.  Some  have  imagined  that  the  pronoun 
ought  always  regularly  to  refer  to  the  nearest  preceding  noun 
of  the  same  gender  and  number.  But  this  notion  is  founded 
in  a  mistake,  and  doth  not  suit  the  idiom  of  any  language, 
ancient  or  modern.  From  the  rank  that  some  words  mahr- 
tain  in  the  sentence,  if  I  may  be  allowed  that  expression,  a 
reader  will  have  a  natural  tendency  to  consider  the  pronoun 
as  referring  to  them,  without  regard  to  their  situation.  In 
support  of  this  observation  I  shall  produce  two  examples. 
The  first  shall  be  of  the  neuter  singular  of  the  third  personal 

*  I  even  think  that  the  turn  of  the  sentence  is  easier  in  Etiglish  than  in 
French  :  "  Lysias,  parlant  des  amis  de  son  pare  a  son  pere  m6me,  lui  pro- 
iiiit  de  ne  les  abandonner  jamais."  It  may  be  thought  that,  on  the  first 
supposition,  there  is  a  shorter  way  of  removing  the  doubt.  Se.<prnpres  amis, 
ill  French,  and  his  own  friends,  in  English,  would  effectually  answer  the 
end.  But  let  it  be  observed,  that  the  introduction  of  this  appropriating 
term  haih  an  exclusive  appearance  with  regard  to  others  that  might  be  \ery 
unsuitable.  I  observe  farther,  that  the  distinction  in  English  between  his 
and  her  precludes  several  ambiguities  that  affect  most  other  European 
tongues.  Suppose  the  promise  had  been  made  to  the  mother  instead  of 
the  father,  the  simple  enunciation  of  it  would  be  equally  ambiguous  in 
French  as  in  the  other  case.  "  Lysias  promit  a  sa  mere  de  n'abandonner 
jamais  ses  amis,"  is  their  expression,  whether  they  be  his  friends  or  furs  of 
whom  he  speaks.  If  it  were  a  daughter  to  her  father,  the  case  would  be 
the  same  with  them,  but  different  with  us.  I  may  remark  here,  by-lheway, 
how  much  more  this  small  distinction  in  regard  to  the  antecedent  conduces 
to  perspicuity,  than  the  distinctions  of  gender  and  mnnlier  in  regard  to  the 
nouns  with  which  they  are  joined.  As  to  this  last  conne.xion,  the  place  of 
the  pronoun  always  ascertains  it,  so  that,  for  this  purpose  at  least,  tha 
change  of  termination  is  superfluous.  t  Gen.,  xliv.,  22. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF   KHETORIC.  259 

pronoun  :  •'  But  I  shnll  leave  this  subject  to  your  mrxunge- 
nieiit,  :uid  question  not  but  you  will  throw  it  inio  such  lijfhls 
as  shall  at  once  improve  and  entertain  your  reader."'*  Tlicre 
is  no  ambiguity  here,  nor  would  it,  on  the  most  cursory  read- 
ing, enter  nito  the  head  of  any  person  ol"  common  sense  that 
the  pronoun  IL  relates  to  niamigemeiif,  which  is  Jioarer,  and 
not  to  svhjfct,  which  is  more  remote.  Nor  15  it  the  sense  only 
that  directs  us  in  this  preference.  There  is  another  principle 
by  which  we  are  influenced.  The  accusative  of  tlie  active 
verb  is  one  chief  object  of  attention  in  a  sentence  ;  the  regi- 
men of  that  accusative  hath  but  a  secondary  value  ;  it  is  re- 
garded only  as  explanatory  of  the  former,  or,  at  most,  as  an 
appendage  to  it.  This  consideration  doth  not  affect  those 
only  who  understand  grammar,  but  all  who  understand  the 
language.  The  different  parts  of  speech,  through  the  power 
of  custom,  produce  their  effect  on  those  who  are  ignorant  of 
their  very  names,  as  much  as  on  the  grammarian  himself, 
though  it  is  the  grammarian  alone  who  can  give  a  rational 
account  of  these  effects.  The  other  example  1  promiset^  to 
give  shall  be  of  the  mascuhne  of  the  same  number  and  per- 
son, in  the  noted  complaint  of  Cardinal  Wolsey  immediately 
after  his  disgrace  : 

'  Had  I  but  served  my  God  with  half  the  zeal 

I  served  my  kmg,  he  would  not  in  mine  age 

Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies."! 

Here,  though  the  word  king  is  adjoining,  and  the  word  God  at 
some  distance,  the  pronoun  he  cannot  so  regularly  refer  to 
that  noun  as  to  this.  The  reason  is,  the  whole  of  the  second 
clause,  begiiuiing  with  these  words,  "  with  half  the  zeal," 
maintains  but  a  subordinate  rank  in  the  sentence,  as  it  is  in- 
troduced in  explication  of  the  first,  and  might  be  omitted,  not, 
indeed,  without  impairing,  but  without  destroying  the  sense. 
Yet  neither  the  rank  in  the  sentence,  nor  the  nearness  of  po- 
sition, will  invariably  determine  the  import  of  the  relative 
Sometimes,  indeed,  as  was  observed  by  the  French  author 
last  quoted,  the  sense  of  the  words  connected  is  sufficient  to 
remove  the  ambiguity,  though  the  reader  should  have  no  pre- 
vious knowledge  of  the  subject.  And,  doubtless,  it  is  equally 
reasonable  to  admit  a  construction  which,  though  naturally 
equivocal,  is  fixed  by  the  connexion,  as  to  admit  an  equivo- 
cal term,  the  sense  whereof  is  in  this  manner  ascertained. 
Of  an  ambiguity  thus  removed  the  following  will  serve  for 
an  example  :  "  Alexander,  having  conquered  Darius,  made 
himself  master  of  Ins  dominions."  His  may  refer  grammat- 
ically either  to  Alexander  or  to  Darius  ;  but  as  no  man  is  said 
to  make  himself  master  of  what  was  previously  his  own,  the 
words  connected  prevent  the  false  sense  from  presenting  it- 
self to  the  reader. 
*  Spect.,  No.  628.  t  Shakspeare,  Henry  Vllf 


260  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OP   RHETORIC. 

But  It  IS  not  the  pronouns  only  that  are  liable  to  be  used 
nmbigiiously.  There  is  in  adjectives,  particularly,  a  great 
risk  o^amhl^'uity,  when  they  are  not  adjoined  to  the  substan- 
tives to  wliich  they  belong.  This  hazard,  it  must  be  owned, 
is  greater  in  our  language  than  in  most  others,  our  adjectives 
having  no  declension  whereby  case,  number,  and  gender  are 
distinguished.  Their  relation,  therelbre,  for  the  most  part,  is 
not  otherwise  to  be  .iscertaincd  but  by  their  place.  'I'he  fol- 
lowing sentence  will  serve  for  an  example  :  "  God  lieapeth 
favours  on  his  servants  ever  liberal  and  faithful."  Is  it  God 
or  his  servants  that  are  liberal  and  faithful]  If  the  former, 
say,  "  God,  ever  liberal  and  faithful,  heapelh  favours  on  his 
servants."  If  the  latter,  say,  either  '"  God  heapeth  favours  on 
his  ever-lit)eral  and  faithful  servants,"  or  "his  servants  v.'lio 
are  ever  liberal  and  faithful."  There  is  another  frequent 
cause  of  ambiguity  in  the  use  of  adjectives,  which  hath  been 
as  3'et,  in  our  language,  very  little  attended  to.  Tv/o  or  more 
are  sometimes  made  to  refer  to  the  same  substantive,  when, 
inj'act,  they  do  not  belong  to  the  same  thing,  but  to  different 
things,  which,  being  of  the  same  kind,  are  expressed  by  the 
same  generic  name.  I  explain  myself  by  an  example  : 
"  Both  the  ecclesiastic  and  secular  powers  concurred  in  those 
measures."  Here  the  two  adjectives,  ecclesiastic  and  secu- 
lar, relate  to  the  same  substantive  powers,  but  do  not  relate 
to  the  same  individual  things,  for  the  powers  denominated 
ecclesiastic  are  totally  diitereiU  from  those  denominated  sec- 
ular. Indeed,  the  reader's  perfect  knowledge  of  the  differ- 
ence may  prevent  his  attending  to  this  ambiguity,  or,  rather, 
impropriety  of  speech.  But  this  mode  of  expression  ought 
to  be  avoided,  because,  if  admitted  in  one  instance  where  the 
meaning,  perhaps,  is  clear  to  the  generality  of  readers,  a  wri- 
ter will  be  apt  inadvertently  to  fall  into  it  in  other  instances 
where  the  meaning  is  not  clear,  nay,  where  most  readers  will 
be  misled.  This  too  common  idiom  may  be  avoided  either  by 
repeating  the  substantive,  or  by  subjoiinng  the  substantive  to 
the  first  adjective,  and  prefixing  the  article  to  the  second  as 
well  as  to  the  first.  Say,  either  "  Both  the  ecclesiastic  pow- 
ers and  the  secular  pov/ers  concurred  in  those  mejisures,"  or, 
Avhich  is  perhaps  preferable,  "  Both  the  ecclesiastic  powers 
and  the  secular  concurred  in  tliose  m.easures.'"  The  substan- 
tive being  posterior  to  the  first  adjective,  and  anterior  to  the 
second,  the  second,  though  it  refers,  cannot,  according  to 
grammatical  order,  belong  to  it.  The  substantive  is  there- 
fore understood  as  repeated  ;  besides,  the  repetition  of  the 
article  h-as  the  force  to  denote  that  this  is  not  an  additional 
epitliet  to  the  same  subject,  but  belongs  to  a  subject  t(;tally 
distinct,  though  coming  under  the  same  denomination.  There 
is,  indeed,  one  phrase  liable  to  the  aforesaid  objection,  which 
use  hath  so  firmly  established,  that  I  fear  it  would  savour  of 


THE    PHILOSOPHT    OF    RHETORIC.  261 

affectation  to  alter.  The  phrase  I  mean  is,  •'  The  lords  spir- 
itual and  temporal  in  Parliament  assenihlcd."  Ncv(-rllM?l<-ss, 
when  it  is  not  cxpcot(:!d  that  we  should  express  ourselves  in 
tlie  style  of  the  law,  and  wiien  we  art;  not  quotinnr.  eiihcr  a 
decision  of  the  House  of  Peers  or  an  act  of  Parliament,  I 
imagine  it  would  he  better  to  sa.y,  "The  spiritual  lords  and 
the  temporal. "  On  the  contrary,  wherever  the  two  adjec- 
tives are  expressive  of  qualities  bcdonging  to  a  subject,  not 
only  specifically,  but  individually  Hie  same,  the  other  mode 
of  speech  is  preferable,  which  m-aUes  tliem  belong  also  to  the 
same  nonn.  Thus  we  say  properly,  "The  high  and  mighty 
states  of  flollasid,"  because  it.  is  not  some  of  the  states  that 
are  denominated  hiah  and  others  of  them  mighlij,  but  both 
epithets  arc  given  aiike  to  all.  It  would,  therefore,  be  equal- 
ly faulty  here  to  adopt  such  an  arrangement  as  would  make 
a  reader  conceive  them  to  be  dilTerent.  In  cases  wherein 
the  article  is  not  used,  the  place  of  tlie  substantive  ought  to 
show  whether  botii  adjectives  belong  to  the  same  thing,  or  to 
diderent  things  having  tUe  same  name.  In  tiie  first  case,  the 
substantive  ought  either  to  precede  both  adjectives,  or  to  fol- 
low both  ;  in  the  second,  it  ought  to  follow  the  first  adjective, 
and  may  be  repeated  after  the  secon  I.  or  understood,  us  will 
best  suit  the  harmony  of  the  senlcuce  or  the  nature  of  the 
composilion  ;  for  the  second  adjective  cannot  grammatically 
bflong  to  the  noun  which  follows  the  first,  tliDugh  that  nonn 
may  properly  suggest  to  the  reader  the  word  lo  be  supplied. 
Thus  I  should  say  rightly,  "  It  is  the  opinion  o{  aW  !2:o:>d  and 
wise  men,  that  a  vicious  person  cannot  enjoy  true  happiness." 
because  I  mean  to  signify  that  this  is  the  opinion  of  those  lo 
whom  both  qualities,  goodness  and  wisdom,  are  justly  attrib- 
uted. But  the  following  passage  in  oin*  version  of  the  sacred 
text  is  not  so  proj)er :  "  Every  scribe  instructed  unto  the  king- 
dom of  heaven  is  like  a  householder,  who  bringeth  out  of  his 
treasures  t/iin,<>-s  new  a-ul  old.''*  Both  epithets  cannot  belong 
to  the  same  tlungs.  Make  but  a  small  alteration  in  the  order, 
and  say  new  things  and  old,  and  you  will  add  greatly  iioth  to 
the  perspicuity  and  to  the  propriety  of  the  expressinn.  In 
cases  similar  to  the  example  last  quoted,  if  a  preposition  be 
necessary  to  the  construction  of  the  sentence,  it  ought  ti)  be 
repeated  before  the  second  adjective.  Thus,  "Death  is  tlie 
common  lot  of  all,  of  good  men  and  iiad."  But  when  both 
adjectives  express  the  qualities  of  an  islentical  subject,  it  is 
better  not  to  repeat  the  prepositioii.  "The  prince  gave  en 
couragenient  to  all  honest  and  industrious  ariif.ccrs  of  neigh- 
bouring nations  to  come  and  settle  among  his  subjects." 
Here  both  qualities,  honesty  and  indnstry,  are  required  in  ev- 
fvv  artificer  encouraged  by  the  prince.     I  shall  observe  lust- 

*  MaLthow,  xiii.t  52. 


262  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

ly,  on  this  article,  that  though  the  adjectives  relate  to  differ- 
ent things,  if  no  substantive  be  expressed,  it  is  not  necessary 
to  repeat  the  preposition.  The  reason  is,  that  in  such  cases 
the  adjectives  are  used  substantively,  or,  to  speak  more  prop- 
erly, are  real  substantives.  Thus  we  may  say,  either  "  Death 
is  l!ie  inevitable  fate  of  good  and  bad,  rich  and  poor,  wise  and 
foolish,"  or  "  of  good  and  of  bad,  of  rich  and  of  poor."  When 
the  definite  article  is  prefixed  to  the  first  adjective,  it  ought 
to  be  repeated  before  the  second,  if  the  adjectives  are  ex- 
pressive of  qualities  bolonging  to  different  subjects,  but  not 
if  they  refer  to  the  same  subject.  Thus  we  say  rightly, 
"  How  immense  the  difference  between  the  pious  and  the 
profane" — "  1  address  myself  only  to  the  intelligent  and  at- 
tentive." In  the  former,  the  subjects  referred  to  arc  mani- 
festly different ;  in  the  latter  they  coincide,  as  both  qualities 
are  required  in  every  hearer.  The  following  passage  is,  by 
consequence,  justly  censurable.  The  exceptionable  phrases 
are  distinguished  by  the  character :  "  Wisdom  and  folly,  the 
virtuous  and  the  vile,  the  learned  and  ignorant,  the  lemperale 
and  debauched,  all  give  and  return  the  jest.'"*  For  the  same 
reason,  and  it  is  a  sufficient  reason,  that  he  said  "  the  virtu- 
ous and  the  vile,"  he  ought  to  have  said  "  the  learned  and  the 
ignorant,  the  temperate  and  the  debauched." 

I  proceed  to  give  examples  in  some  of  the  other  parts  of 
speech.  The  construction  of  substantive  nouns  is  sometimes 
ambiguous.  Take  the  following  instance  :  "  You  shall  sel- 
dom find  a  dull  fellow  of  good  education,  but  (if  he  happen  to 
have  any  leisure  upon  his  hands)  v/ill  turn  his  head  to  one  of 
those  two  amusements  for  all  fools  of  eminence,  politics  oi 
poetry. '"\  The  position  of  the  words  politics  or  poetry  makes 
one  at  first  imagine  that,  along  with  the  terai  eminence,  they 
are  affected  by  the  preposition  of,  and  construed  wiih  fools. 
The  repetition  of  the  to  after  eminence  would  have  totallj 
removed  the  ambiguity.  A'frequent  cause  of  this  fault  in  the 
construction  of  substantives,  especially  in  verse,  is  when 
both  what  we  call  the  nominative  case  and  the  accusative 
are  put  before  the  verb.  As  in  nouns  those  cases  are  nol 
distinguished  either  by  inflection  or  by  prepositions,  so  neithei 
can  they  be  distinguished  in  such  instances  by  arrangement. 

''The  rising  tomb  a  lofty  column, bore."J 
Did  the  tomb  bear  the  column,  or  the  column  the  tomb? 

"  And  thus  the  son  the  fervent  sire  address'd.''ij 
This,  though  liable  to  the  same  objection,  may  be  more  ea 
sily  rectified,  at  least  in  a  considerable  measure.   As  the  pos 
sessive  pronoun  is  supposed  to  refer  to  some  preceding  noun 
which,  for  distinction's  sake,  I  have  here  called  the  antece- 

*  Brown  on  the  Characteristics,  Ess.  i.,  sec  t.  v.         t  Spectator,  No.  43 
t  Pope's  Odyssey,  book  xii.  "  it  Ibid.,  book  xix. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORK,'.  263 

dent,  though  the  term  is  not  often  used  in  so  great  latitude,  it 
is  alwnys  better  to  be  construed  with  the, accusative  of  ilie 
verb,  and  to  refer  to  the  nominative  as  its  antecedent.  'J'lie 
reason  is,  the  nominative,  to  which  it  most  naturally  refers, 
whether  actually  preceding  or  not,  is  always  conceived  ia 
the  order  of  things  to  precede.  If,  then,  it  was  the  sou  who 
spoke,  say, 

"  And  thus  the  son  his  fervent  sire  address'd." 
If  the  father, 

"  And  thus  his  son  the  fervent  sire  address'd." 
In  confirmation  of  this,  let  us  consider  the  way  in  which 
we  should  express  ourselves  in  plain  prose,  without  any  trans- 
position of  words.  For  the  first,  "  Thus  the  son  addressed 
his  father  ;"  for  the  second,  "  Thus  the  father  addressed  liis 
son,"  are  undoubtedly  good ;  whereas,  to  say  in  lieu  of  tlie 
first,  "Thus  his  son  addressed  the  father;"  and  in  lieu  of  the 
second,  "  Thus  his  father  addressed  the  son,"  are  not  English. 
By  the  English  idiom,  therefore,  the  possessive  pronoun  is, 
in  such  instances,  more  properly  joined  to  the  regimen  of 
the  verb  than  to  the  nominative.  If  this  practice  were  uni- 
versal, as  it  is  both  natural  and  suitable  to  the  genius  of  our 
tongue,  it  would  always  indicate  the  construction  wherever 
the  possessive  pronoun  could  be  properly  introduced.  For 
this  reason  I  consider  the  two  following  lines  as  much  clear- 
er of  the  charge  of  ambiguity  than  the  former  quotation  from 
the  same  work : 

"Young  Itylus,  his  parent's  darling  joy, 
"Whom  chance  misled  the  mother  to  destroy."* 

For  though  the  vi'ords  whom  and  the  mother  are  both  in  the 
accusative,  the  one  as  the  regimen  of  the  active  verb  misled, 
the  other  as  the  regimen  of  the  active  verb  destroy,  yet  the 
destroyer  or  agent  is  conceived  in  the  natural  order  as  pre- 
ceding the  destroyed  or  patient.  If,  therefore,  the  last  iine 
had  been, 

"  Whom  chance  misled  his  mother  to  destroy," 
it  would  have  more  naturally  imported  that  the  son  destroy- 
ed his  mother ;  as  it  stands,  it  more  naturally  imports,  agree- 
ably to  the  poet's  design,  that  the  mother  destroyed  her  son  ; 
there  being,  in  this  last  case,  no  access  for  the  possessive 
pronoun.  I  acknowledge,  however,  that  uniform  usage  can- 
not (though  both  analogy  and  utility  may)  be  pleaded  in  fa- 
vour of  the  distinction  now  made.  [  therefore  submit  entire- 
ly to  the  candid  and  judicious  the  propriety  of  observing  it 
for  the  future. 

The  following  is  an  example  of  ambiguity  in  using  con- 
junctions :  "  At  least  ray  own  private  letters  leave  room  for 

*  Pope's  Odyssey,  book  xix 


264  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

a  politician,  well  versed  in  matters  of  this  nature,  to  suspect 
av  much,  as  a  penetrating  friend  of  mine  tells  me."*  'i'he 
particle  «,«,  \vhi<-h  in  this  sentence  immediately  precedes  the 
word  a  peneiraling  friend,  makes  frequently  a  part  of  these 
compound  conjunctions  as  much  as,  as  well  as,  as  far  as.  It 
will,  therefore,  naturally  appear  at  first  to  belong  to  the  words 
as  much,  which  immediately  precede  it.  But  as  this  is  not 
really  the  case,  it  ought  to  have  been  otherwise  situated  ;  for 
it  is  not  enough  that  it  is  separated  by  a  comma,  these  small 
distinctions  in  the  pointing  being  but  too  frequently  overlook- 
ed. Alter  the  arrangement,  then,  and  tlie  expression  will  be 
no  longer  ambiguous  :  "  At  least  my  own  private  letters,  as 
a  penetrating  friend  of  mine  tells  me,  leave  joom  for  a  pol- 
iticiLii  well  versed  in  matters  of  this  nature  to  suspect  as 
mucli."  In  the  succeeding  passage  the  same  author  gives  us 
an  example  of  ambiguity  in  the  application  of  an  adverb  and 
a  conjunction  :  "  I  beseech  you,  sir,  to  inform  these  fellows, 
that  they  have  7iot  the  spleen,  because  they  cannot  talk  with- 
out  the  help  of  a  glass,  or  convey  their  meaning  to  each  oth- 
er uithout  the  interposition  of  clouds. "f  The  ambiguity  here 
lies  in  the  two  words  7io!,  and  because.  What  follows  because 
appears  on  the  first  hearing  to  be  the  reason  why  the  person 
here  addressed  is  desired  to  inform  these  fellows  that  they 
are  not  splenetic  ;  on  the  second,  it  appears  to  be  the  reason 
why  people  ought  to  conclude  tiiat  tliey  are  not;  and  on  ihe 
third,  the  author  seems  only  intending  to  signify  that  this  is 
not  a  sufficient  reason  to  make  anybody  conclude  that  they 
are.  Thrs  error  deserves  our  notice  the  more,  that  it  is  of- 
ten to  be  found  even  in  our  best  v^riters. 

Sometimes  a  particular  expression  is  so  situated  that  it 
may  be  construed  with  more  or  less  of  another  particular  ex- 
pression which  precedes  it  in  the  sentence,  and  may  conse- 
quently exhibit  different  senses:  "He  has,  by  some  strange 
magic,  arrived  at  the  value  of  half  a  plum,  as  the  citizens 
call  a  hundred  thousand  pounds. ^"X  Is  it  a  -plum  or  half  a  plum 
which  the  citizens  call  "  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  V  "  1 
will  spend  a  hundred  or  two  pounds  rather  than  be  enslaved. "J 
This  is  another  error  of  the  same  sort,  but  rather  worse. 
Hundred  cannot  regularly  be  understood  betvveen  the  adjec- 
tive two  and  its  substantive  pounds.  Besides,  the  indefinite 
article  a  cannot  properly  express  one  side  of  the  alternative, 
and  si'.pply  the  place  of  a  numeral  adjective  opposed  to  two. 
The  author's  meaning  v/ould  have  been  better  expressed  ci- 
ther of  these  ways:  "I  will  spend  one  or  two  hundred 
pounds,"  or,  "  I  will  spend  one  hundred  pounds  or  two  rather 
than  be  enslaved."     In  the  former  case  it  is  evident  that  the 

*  Spect.,  No.  43.  t  Hiiet.,  No.  53 

t  Tatler,  No.  40.  (j  Swiit  to  Sheridan. 


THE    rniLOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  205 

words  hundred  pounds  belong  to  both  numonil  ;idjectives  ;  isi 
the  hitter,  that  tliey  are  luiderstood  alter  the  second.  The 
reference  and  coiislruetioM  of  the  conclndiiig  words  in  the 
next  quotation  is  very  indeihiile:  "  .My  Christian  and  surname 
begin  and  end  with  the  same  IcHcrs.'"*  Dolli  his  Cliristisiu 
name  begin  with  tiie  same  letter  that  liis  surname  hegnii 
with,  and  end  with  tlie  same  letter  tiiat  his  surname  ends 
wil!i  !  or  (loth  iiis  Ciiristian  name  end  with  the  same  letter 
with  whicli  it  begins,  and  his  surname  also  end  with  the  same 
letter  with  wiiieh  it  begins  ?  or,  lastly,  are  all  these  four  let- 
ters, the  first  and  the  last  of  each  name,  llic  same  letter  'f 

Sometimes  a  particular  clause  or  expression  is  so  situated 
that  it  may  be  construed  with  diHerent  members  of  the  sen- 
tence, and  thus  exhibit  diiFerent  meanings  :  "  it  has  not  a 
word,"  says  Pope,  "  but  what  the  auliior  religiously  thinks 
in  zi.'"J  Une  would  at  first  imagine  iiis  meaning  lo  be,  that 
it  had  not  a  word  which  the  author  did  not  think  to  be  in  it. 
Alter  a  little  the  place  of  the  last  two  words,  and  the  amlii- 
g\iity  will  bo  removed  :  "  it  has  not  a  word  m  il  but  what  the 
author  religiously  thinks."  Of  the  same  kind,  also,  is  the 
subsequent  quotation  :  "  Mr.  Dryden  makes  a  very  handsome 
observation  on  Ovid's  writing  a  letter  from  Dido  to  Mxw/.xa, 
in  the  following  iourds.'"<^  Wiiether  are  I  he  following  words, 
the  words  of  Dido's  letter,  or  of  Dryden's  observation  ^  Be- 
fore you  read  them,  jou  will  more  readily  suppose  them  to 
be  the  words  of  the  letter;  after  reading  tliem,  you  lind  they 
are  the  words  of  the  observation.  The  order  ought  to  have 
been,  *'iVlr.  Dryden,  in  the  following  words,  makes  a  very 
handsome  observation  on  Ovid's  writing  a  letter  from  Dido  la 
.^neas." 

I  shall  conclude  this  section  with  an  instance  of  that  kind 
of  ambiguity  wiiich  the  French  call  a  squinting  construction  ;\ 
that  is,  when  a  clause  is  so  situated  in  a  sentence  that  one  is 
at  first  at  a  loss  to  know  wiiether  il  ought  lo  be  connected 
with  the  words  which  go  before,  or  with  those  which  come 
after.  Take  the  following  passage  for  an  example  :  "  As  it 
is  necessary  to  have  the  head  clear  as  well  as  the  complex- 
ion, to  be  perfect  in  this  part  of  learning,  1  rarely  mingle  with 
the  men,  but  frequent  the  tea  tables  of  the  ladies. "*[f  Wheth- 
er, "To  be  perfect  in  this  part  of  learning,  it  is  necessary  lo 
have  the  head  clear  as  well  as  the  complexion  ;"  or,  '•  To  bo 
perfect  in  this  part  of  learning,  does  he  rarely  mingle  with 
the  men,  but  frequent  the  tea-tables  of  the  ladies  ]"  Which 
ever  of  these  be  the  sense,  the  words  ought  to  have  been  oth- 
erwise ranged. 

*  Spect.,  No.  505,  O. 

■|-  An  example  of  the  first  is  .Andrew  Askew,  of  the  second  Hezekiab 
Thrift,  and  of  the  third  Norman  Neilson.  t  Guardian,  No.  4. 

■  <)  Srpect.,  No.02  ■•  ---     II  Coustruction  louche.  %  Guardiaa,  No.  10- 

z 


'f 


2SC  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   nilETORIC. 

SECTKJN  III. 

THE  rMNTELT.:a:-jLE. 

T  havb  already  consiJorcd  two  of  ilic  principal  and  most 
connnon  onVnces  iigainst  j")<>rspicL!it3%a:i(l  come  v.r.w  id  make 
some  remarks  on  tiiC  tliiid  and  last  oii'encc  incntioiit-J  in  the 
onnineralion  Ibrnicriy  given.  If.  wa.^  observed  tliat  a  jq)eak- 
JT  may  )iot  only  express  liiinseil  obseureiy.  auci  so  convciy 
liis  nicanins:  iinperfectiy  to  ihn  mini  of  tlie  hearer;  ihat  he 
in;iy  noL  oldy  express  himself  anibignDii.sly,  and  so,  aloii^ 
\vii!i  his  own'  convey  a  meaninjr  entirely  diiferent ;  b;:t  even 
expres.s  himseif  unin'teliifribly,  and  so  convey  no  meaning  at 
fill.  One  would,  indeed,  think  il  liardiy  possible  lliat.  a  man 
of  sense,  wlio  perfectly  itnderstand.s  tiie  laiigu-ijre  wiiich  lit; 
i!Si;th,  shoiiKl  ever  .speak  or  write  in  such  a  manner  as  to  ba 
altogether  uninleiligible.  Yet  tliis  is  what  frequently  hap- 
pens. The  cause  of  thi.s  fault  in  any  wriier  I  take  to  be  al- 
ways one  or  other  of  the  three  foilowing  :  first,  great  confu- 
sion of  thougiit,  which  is  conimonly  accompanied  with  intri- 
cr.cy  of  expression ;  secoii.;!y.  alfectatiou  of  excellence  in  the 
diction;  tliirdly,  a  total  want  of  lu-janing.  1  do  not  meii'iou 
as  one  of  tl'.e  causes  of  this  iuiputation  a  penury  of  langu:ige, 
though  this,  doubi!es.=',  may  coiiiiibiilc  to  produce  it.  In  fact, 
I  never  found  one  who  lutd  a  justness  of  apprehension,  and 
w.TS  free  from  aJleciation,  ui  a  loss  to  make  himself  under- 
stood in  his  native  tongue,  even  though  he  h-id  lillie  com- 
mand of  language,  and  made  but  a  bad  choice  of  words. 

Part  I.  From  Confusion  nf  TJiuughL 
The  firs!  cxxm-q  of  the  u;ii:itellig}b!e  i;i  cornpositiiui  is  con- 
fusion of  tiioiighr.  Language,  us  hath  been  alrcaiJy  obseiv- 
ru,  is  the  medii'.m  Ihr.iiH'b  which  the  scntiiiieius  of  the  wri- 
ter are  perceived  by  ilio  reader;  iind  though  the  ia.puriiy  or 
ihe  giossness  of  t]»e  medluiT!  will  render  tl'.e  image  obscure 
or  indislinct,  yet  no  puri'y  in  the  nicdlMni  will  suirice  for  ex- 
hibiting a  dislinct  and  unvarying  imager  f>f  ri  ccnfusefl  ;in  1  ua- 
fetea'ly  object.  '!  here  is  a  sort  of  half-formed  tl-.oughts,  wri'ch 
we  sometimes  .Gnd  wriior.s  iinp^iicu  to  give  tiie  world,  be- 
fore they  l.hemselves  are  fully  posse.sscd  of  them.  New,  if 
tiie  wnu.T  himself  r)erccived  cor.fusediy  and  i'j'pcrreciiy  liie 
Liei-timenis  lie  woui  i  cominuriicate.  it' is  a  ihons-uid  to  one 
the  reauor  vv'iU  not  perceive  theni  nl  all.  But.  h.ow,  then,  it 
may  oe  ;isKcd,  shall  he  be  qu;iii!ie.d  tor  di.^covering  t'le  cause, 
and  disLinguislung  in  tiie  writer  between  a  confu.sio!i  of 
thought  aiul  a  to»:d  want  of  meaning  ?  I  ansu'ev,  Uial  in  ex- 
rumples  of  this  kind  the  cause  will  sometimes,  not  always,  be 
discovered  by  mcanc  or  an  attentive  and  frequent  perusal  of 
the  words  and  context.     Some  uicaiiing,  after  long  poring, 


THE  pniLOsopnv  OF  nuETORic.  2G7 

will  pcrliaps  be  frr.ced  ;  but  in  all  such  cnses  we  nvTy  bo  saiil 
more  projicrly  to  Hiviiic  wlinl  l!ic  Miiiiior  would  s.iy,  ili.iii  io 
underslHiul  whui  lie  s;iys  ;  ;iii-!,  llieicfoic,  :ill  such  t-cuiciicis 
deseivo  to  be  ninknl  Hiuoiig  liie  vninicl/ijiiUe.  ff  :i  iii^<:ovciy 
of  the  sense  be  iii;ule,  iliM  ii  is  in:uic  oiiglit  nillier  to  be  ;.s 
cribed  to  the  s;i|yr;>.tily  of  the  reader  tliiiii  lo  I  he  eluciiiKjn  ol 
the  Wilier.  Tins  spreie.s  of  the  uiiiiueliigibii-  (winch,  by  I'iC- 
way.difi'ers  not  in  kind,  but  in  dejrree,  from  tiie  obscuiiiy  al- 
ready considen^l,  lieiiig  no  other  than  tliat  b;td  quatity  in  the 
exirenu)  1  shall  exemplify  fiist  in  sini]»k',  ami  xfierward  in 
com[)lex  sentences. 

l'"Mbt  in  snnp!e  sentences:  "I  have  observed,"  snys  Sir 
liichard  Steele,  who.  tlionjrli  a  man  of  ^ent:e  and  genius,  was 
a  great  master  in  llns  style,  "ihiil  the  snp(Mioiily  an-.'-.iig- 
these,"  lie  is  speakin^r  of  some  coffee  luaise  politicians,  "pro- 
ceeds from  an  oj)inio;i  of  gallantry  and  fasliion."*  'i'iiis  t-.-jii- 
tencc.  considered  in  itself,  evideuily  conveys  no  meaning. 
First,  it  is  not  said  whose  opinion,  their  own  or  Ih.a  of  (Uh- 
ers ;  secoiidly.  it  is  not  said  what  opinion,  or  of  what  soit, 
favourable  or  nnfavonrabie,  Irnr;  or  )a!s(>,  but,  in  geiieral.  :'.n 
opinion  of  gallantry  and  fasliion.  \\hicli  eorjtaina  no  defijnle 
ex|)rcssion  of  any  meaning.  Wiih  the  joint  assistance  (;f 
the  C(sntext,  rellection,  and  conjecture,  we  shall  perhaps  con- 
clude that  the  author  intended  lo  say  "  that  the  rank  among 
these  politicians  was  delern;ined  by  ihe  opinion  g(-neraiiy 
entertained  of  tlie  rank  in  point  of  gallantry  and  fasliion  that 
eacli  of  ihcm  had  attained."  Unl  no  part  of  this  is  expiess<d. 
Another  specimen:  "And  as  to  a  \vcli-l;inghl  miii;!,  uiscn 
you've  said  a  haughiy  and  proud  man,  yon  have  spiske  a  n:ir- 
row  conception,  little  spirit,  and  despicable  e.irriage."f  MeiO, 
too,  it  is  possible  to  guess  the  ii'.ientio:i  of  she  author,  but  ..jt 
to  explain  the  iinpori  of  the  expression. 

Take  the  two  following  examples  of  complex  sentences 
from  the  same  hand  :  "  I  must  conicss  we  live  in  an  ;'ge 
wherein  a  few  entp'y  blusterers  carry  away  ll-e  praise  of 
speaking,  while  a  cr«»wd  of  fellows  overstocked  wiih  knoul- 
eCge  are  run  down  by  tliem  :  I  say  overstocked,  bec;'.use  tb.ey 
certainly  are  so,  as  to  their  service  of  rnankin  ',  if  irom  I  heir 
very  store  they  raise  to  themselves  ideas  of  respect  and 
gre:!lness  of  the  occasion.  anJ  I  know  not  wliat,  to  disi.blB 
inem^elves  from  explaining  their  thonghis.'  %  The  other  ex- 
ample is,  "The  serene  aspcei  of  these  writers,  joii'tni  with 
the  great  encouragement  1  f)bserve  is  given  to  another,  or, 
■what  is  inde(!d  to  be  snsp(!Cted,  in  which  he  indulges  himself, 
confirmed  me  in  the  notion  I  have  of  the  prevalence  of  ain- 
bilion  this  way."^     Jjut  Iciiving  this,  which  is,  indeed,  the 

•  Spectator,  No.  49.  t  Ouanlian,  No.  20. 

i  Spect,  >o.  4^  <j  Guardian.  No  1. 


2U8  THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF    nHETORIC. 

duilest  species  of  the  unintcllig-ihle,  I  proceed  lo  the  second 
class,  that  whicli  arises  Irom  an  allccialioii  of  exceiloncc. 

Part  II.  Frnyn  AJ'cctalion  of  Excellence. 
lu  this  there  is  always  soiT;elljiiig  figurative;  but  Ihe  fig- 
ures are  remote,  and  things  heterogeneous  arc  cunibiticd.  I 
shall  exemplify  this  sort  also,  first  in  a  few  more  simple  seu- 
teucfs,  and  then  in  such  as  are  more  complex.  Of  (he  for- 
mer, take  the  following  mslnuces  :  "  Tiiis  temper  of  soui," 
says  the  Gu.irJian,  speaking  of  meekness  and  humility, 
"keeps  our  understanding  tiglit.  about  us."*  Whether  the 
author  had  any  meaning  hi  this  expression,  or  wiiat  it  was,  I 
shall  not  lake  upon  me  to  determine  ;  but  hardly  could  any^ 
thing  more  incongruous  in  the  w.iy  of  metaphor  have  been 
imagined.  The  understanding  is  made  n  ginlle  lo  our  other 
menial  faculties,  for  tlie  fastening  of  which  girdle  meekness 
and  humility  serve  for  a  buckle.  "  A  inau  is  uol  qualified  for 
a  bull  who  has  not  a  good  deal  of  wit  and  vivacity,  cvjn  in 
the  ridiculous  side  of  his  character.''''^  It  is  only  the  additional 
clause  iu  the  end  lliat  is  here  exceptionable.  What  a  strange 
jumuie  i  A  man's  wit  and  vivacity  placed  on  the  side  of  his 
character.  Sometimes,  in  a  seniencc  sullieieutly  perspicu- 
ous, we  shall  find  an  uninleiligibiC  clause  inserted,  which,  as 
it  adds  not  to  the  sense,  serves  only  to  interrupt  the  reader 
and  darken  the  sentiment.  Uf  tins  ihe  foiiowiug  passage 
will  serve  for  an  example  :  "  1  seldom  see  a  noble  buildiiig, 
or  any  great  piece  of  magnificence  and  pomp,  but  1  lliink 
how  lilUe  is  all  this  lo  satisfy  the  ambition  or  to  fill  the  idea  of 
an  immorlal  soul. "J  Pray  what  addilion  does  liie  phrase  Lo 
fill  the  idea  make  lo  liie  stmse,  or  what  is  the  meaning  of  it  \ 
I  shall  subjoin,  for  ihe  sake  of  variety,  one  poetical  example 
from  Dryden,  who,  speaking  of  the  univeisai  deluge,  says, 

••  Yet  when  thiit  flood  in  its  own  depths  was  drowned. 
It  left  behind  its  lalsa  and  slippery  ground."!) 

The  first  of  these  lines  appears  to  me  marvellously  nonsen- 
sical. It  informs  us  of  a  prodigy  never  heard  of  or  con- 
ceived before,  a  drowned  flood  ;  nay,  which  is  slUl  more 
extraordinary,  a  fiood  that  was  so  excessively  deep,  ihat 
after  leaving  nothing  else  to  diown,  it  turned, ^e/<;  dc  se,  and 
drovvncd  itself.  And,  doubtless,  if  a  flood  can  be  in  danger 
of  drowning  in  itsell',  the  deeper  it  is,  the  danger  must  be  tlio 
greater.  Ho  far,  at  least,  the  author  talks  cousequcntially. 
liis  meaning,  expressed  in  plain  language  (for  the  line  itself 
hath  no  meaning),  was  probably  no  more  tiian  this :  '•  Whoa 
Uie  waters  of  the  deluge  had  subsided." 

♦  G'lardian,  No.  1.  t  Spectator,  No.  47. 

t  Pope's  Thoughts  on  various  Subjects. 

"i  Paiiesyric  on  the  Coronation  aH  Kin^  Charles  II. 


rnE  PHILOSOPHY  of  rhetoeic.  269 

I  proccoi]  to  give  ex;iinples  of  a  $li!l  higlior  order,  in  scii- 
tciic«;s  mure  c(im|)lieutr(l.  'J'licsc  1  shall  pruiliieo  iVoni  ;in 
iiuilior  who,  thoiigii  liir  i'loni  being  cieficieiit  in  iieuteiiess,  i;i. 
veiuioii,  or  vivaciiy,  is  perliaps,  in  tiiis  species  vl  coni[)osi- 
tion,  the  most  eminent  of  all  that  have  written  in  tlie  Knj'iish 
biifTUHge  ;  "If  the  savour  of  things  lies  across  to  hnne&ty, 
if  the  fancy  be  lloriil.  and  tlie  appetite  lii<;h  towards  t!ie  sub- 
altern beauties  and  lower  order  of  worldly  symmetries  and 
proportions,  the  condnit  will  infaliibly  turn  liiis  latter  way.'  * 
This  is  that  figure  of  speech  which  the  rreiich  critics  ciill 
^i;a!i/naliijs,  and  the  Knglish  compreheiKl  under  the  goiieral 
name  hombast,  and  wliicli  nv.i}'  not  improperly  be  defmeu  the 
subiime  of  vonacnse.  Voii  have  lofty  imagrs  and  high-sojiid- 
iiig  words,  but  are  always  at  a  loss  to  hnd  the  sense.  The 
meaning,  where  there  is  a  meaning,  cannot  be  said  to  be 
commanicatcd  and  adorned  by  the  words,  but  is  rather  buried 
under  them.  Of  the  same  kind  are  the  two  following  fpiotu- 
tioiis  from  the  same  author:  "  Men  miisL  acquire  a  very  pe- 
culiar and  strong  haliit  of  turning  their  eye  inward,  in  order 
to  explore  the  interior  regions  and  recesses  of  the  mind,  tlu; 
liollow  caverns  t)f  deep  thought,  the  private  .scats  of  faiic}', 
and  the  wastes  and  wikieriiesses,  as  well  as  the  more  fruitlul 
and  cultivated  tracts  of  this  obscure  climate."!  A  nio'it  won- 
derlul  way  of  telling  its  that  it  is  ditiicuU  to  trace  tlie  opera- 
lions  of  llie  mind.  This  may  .serve  to  give  some  notion  of 
the  figure  which  the  Frencli  Piucbus — no  oQeiice  to  the  Gre- 
cian, who  is  of  a  very  different  family — is  capabie  of  making 
in  an  Knglish  dress.  His  hu'dship  proceeds  i:i  his  own  inim- 
itable mitnner,  or,  rather,  in  wiiat  follows  hiiili  oiituone  him- 
self: "But  what  can  one  do  !  or  how  dispense  with  tlieso 
darker  disquisitions  and  mo<»nlight  voyages,  when  we  h;ive 
to  deal  with  a  sort  of  moonbJmd  wits,  who,  though  very 
acute  and  able  in  their  kind,  may  be  said  to  renmince  day- 
light, and  extinguish,  in  a  manner,  the  bright  visib'.o  outward 
world,  by  allovv'ing  us  to  know  nothing  besides  what  \vc  can 
prove  by  strict  and  for^nal  demonstration. "J  It  mu?t  be 
owned,  the  conditica  of  those  wits  is  tndy  deplorable  :  for, 
though  very  acute  and  able  in  their  kind,  yet  being  moon- 
blind,  they  cannot  see  by  night,  and  having  renouncted  day- 
light, they  will  not  see  by  day  ;  so  that,  for  any  use  they  have 
of  their  eyes,  they  are  no  better  than  stone  blitid.  It  is  as- 
tonishing, too,  that  the  reason  for  rendering  a  moonlight  voy- 
age indispensable  is,  that  we  have  muonl)lind  |)ersoiis  f)idy 
for  our  company,  tlie  very  reason  v\  hid!,  to  an  ordinary  un- 
derstanding. w<iuld  seem  to  render  such  a  voyage  im]irop«'r. 
When  one  narrowly  exani-nes  a  piece;  of  wrilnig  cd'  this 
stamp,  one  finds  one's  scdf  precisely  in  liie  2iiu;itinn  of  the 

*  Chanclei'istics,  vol.  iji.,  Misc.  ii.,  ('h:ip.  li. 

t  Ibid..  Misc.  IV.,  chap.  u.  1   Ibid.,  ?>iisc.  iv.,  chan.  ii. 

Z-2 


270  THE  rniLosopriY  of  nnETORic. 

fox  in  t'lo  fhble,  turning  over  aii'1  coMsi.leir.igr  tlio  trngpdian's 
m;isk,*  :jud  c;m  liardly  refniiM  frum  t'xclaiiiii:ig  in  l!ie  same 
vvurds, 

"  IIow  vast  a  lie^d  is  here  wiiliout  a  brnin  !"t 

Pai!T  111.  From.  Want  nf  Meaning. 
I  come  now  \o  llie  last  c'jiss  of  the  nniiiieliifjible,  vvMch 
proceeds  from  a  reid  want  »•;*  ni.^jiiiU'g  in  the  wiitcr.  liisl;in- 
ces  of  litis  sort  are,  even  in  llie  works  of  good  li'iilicrs,  mueli 
more  numerous  ili;in  is  conmionly  imagined.  But  liow  sh;;!! 
this  defeet  be  diseovcrcl  ?  'I'liere  are,  inJced,  cases  in  which 
it  is  h.irdiy  discoverable  ;  there  are  cases,  on  the  contrary, 
in  which  it  may  be  easily  discovered.  Tliere  is  osn;  rrnv'.rkH- 
ble  difference  between  tliis  class  of  ilie  nnintellinrible  and  ihit 
which  was  first  taken  notice  of,  procecdinjf  from  confnsio:! 
of  thought,  accompanied  with  intricacy  of  <'xprcssion.  When 
this  is  the  cause  of  the  difliculty,  Ihe  reader  will  not  f:;il.if  he 
be  atlentive,  to  iiesiiale  at  certain  i.itf-rvals,  and  to  retrace 
his  progress,  finding  himself  bewildered  in  the  terms,  and  at 
a  loss  for  the  nieaiiing.  Then  he  will  try  to  coiistrue  iho 
sentence,  and  to  ascertain  the  significations  of  l!ic  words. 
By  these  means,  and  by  the  lieip  of  the  context,  he  will  [los- 
sibiy  come  at  last  at  what  the  author  would  liave  s.dd  ; 
whereas,  in  that  species  of  the  unintei'igiide  which  proceeds 
from  a  vacuity  (d'  thought,  the  reverse  comsnindy  happens. 
Tiie  sentence  is  generally  simple  in  its  slruclure,  and  the 
construction  easy.  When  this  is  tlie  case,  provided  words 
glaringly  unsuitable  are  not  combined,  llie  reader  proceeds 
without  hesitation  or  donbt.  He  never  suspects  that  he  does 
not  understand  a  sentence,  the  terms  of  which  are  familiar 
to  him,  and  of  which  he  perceives  distinctly  the  grammatical 
order.  But  if  he  be  by  any  means  i.nduced  to  think  more 
closely  on  the  subject,  and  to  perus'!  the  words  a  .second 
time  more  attentively,  it  is  probable  that  ho  will  then  begin 
to  suspect  them,  and  will  at  length  discover  that  they  contain 
nothing  but  either  an  identical  prop«si;ion,  which  conveys  no 
knowledge,  or  a  proposition  of  that  kind  of  which  one  can- 
not so  nmch  as  affirm  that  it  is  either  true  or  false.  Aial 
this  is  justly  allowed  to  be  the  best  criterion  of  iiotisense.J 

*  Persona  iTagica  is  Commonly  reiiderpii  so ;  but  it  was  very  dirtbrnit 
from  what  is  calleil  a  mask  with  us.  It  was  a  case  which  covpred  uie 
\\holo  head,  and  had  a  face  painted  on  it  suitable  to  the  character  to  be 
re|ireseii!ed  by  it. 

+  '•  O  quanta  sjiecifrs,  inqiiit,  ast  CPrebrnm  non  habet !" — Phmdms. 

I  Of  al:  tlwt  is  wii:teni  in  Ihiss'yio,  we  may  justly  say,  in  the  words  of 
Lord  Verulam  (l)e  An^.  Sci.,  1.  vi.,  c.  ii.),  apjiiyiiig  tu  a  particular  purpose 
the  words  ol  Horace, 

'•  Tantvim  series  junctnra('ne  pollet, 
Tantum  de  medio  sumptis  accedit  honoris  ;" 
"  ut  speciem  artis,  nescio  cujus,  prffclaras  szpenumero  reportcnt  ea,  qua 


THE  rniLosoPTiY  OF  niir.TosTr.  2'il 

ft  is,  imlecf^,  mnvet  cirT-cuIt  to  «;i.s;ingiiish  scntrnccs  cf  iliia 
kiii<;l  from  t;if!oO  of  ihe  secouc^  clriss  uf  t!ie  liiiiiiicliivj-i-ilc  nl- 
roii'.ly  dismissed,  i:?  whicti  the  diirkiN-i-s  is  ciii!.'!'}'  iiiiPUi.'ibie 
to  an  afTt^ctuiiuii  of  excTiieiic;-.  I'.ul  in  tlifth-o  maliijrs  il  is.  not 
of  imp:):l;i:icc  to  fix  the  btnunlaries  v/iili  prccisio;i.  ^soiiio- 
titnes  i).>in]jous  int'ljipiiors  ;;!!;)  sonorous  })hr;isos  I'.rt'  iojiuii- 
ciously  ciiij)ioyod  to  ;i.J:l  a  digiiily  to  the  niosl  trivial  coiu-cp- 
tiotis  ;  sonieliincs  ihcy  arc  i'latio  to  serve  as  a  ve!:iclo  for 
nonsense;  and  •■viielliT some  of  tlie above  citations  fai!  under 
the  one  denoiniijation  or  Ilia  oihor  wouitl  scarcely  be  wortli 
while  to  inquire.  It  hatli  been  observed,  Ihal  in  niauinen  there 
is  as  trieat  a  variety  of  character  as  iu  those  who  enjoy  t!ie 
use  of  their  reason.  In  iike  iiiani:o",  it  mn}'  be  said  of  non- 
sense, t!iat,  in  writip.'j  it,  there  is  a3  g^rent  scope  for  varicly  of 
style  as  Ihoie  is  in  wriliiij^  sense.  I  shall,  iherefore.  not  at- 
tempt to  jrive  specimens  of  a;l  the  characlers  of  .style  \v!iieii 
tliis  kind  of  coniposiiion  admits.  The  task  v.-ouid  be  endless. 
Let  it  suffice  to  iipc'cify  son-v  of  the  principal. 

1.    THE    PUERILE. 

The  n"st  I  s]nl!  mention  is  the  puerile,  wliich  is  always  pro- 
duced when  an  anilsor  runs  o":i  in  a  specioiis  vcrbo^^^ily,  aMii:- 
sing  iiis  readers  wun  synonymous  terms  anJ  identical  propo- 
sitions, well-turned  periods,  and  hi^h-sonuuinij-  words  ;  but,  at 
the  same  time,  using  those  words  so  indcfii^-'eiy,  •luit  tlie  lat- 
ter can  eitljer  alTix  no  meaning  to  them  at  all,  or  may  almost 
aiTix  any  meaniiig  to  thcin  he  pleases.  "If  "iis  asked."  says 
a  late  vtriter,  "wh.ence  arises  this  iiarmon^' or  beatity  of  lan- 
guage ?  what  are  the  riiies  for  obtaining  it ;  U:c  answer  is  ob- 
vious :  Wiiatcver  renders  a  ])eriod  sweet  and  pleasaiu.  makes 
it  also  graceful ;  a  good  ear  is  the  gift  of  Nature  ;  it  .may  bo 
much  improved,  but  not  acijuired  by  art;  wiiOi^ver  is  possess- 
ed of  it  will  scarcely  need  dry  crilical  precepts  to  enable  him 
to  judge  of  a  true  rhytlnnus  and  iujlody  of  composition; 
juvit  luuTibers,  accurate  proporiions,  a  musical  symphony, 
niagi;i.*icent  figures,  and  iha'  decorum  whicii  is  the  re.^ult  of 
ail  these,  are  unison  to  tlie  huiiau  mind ;  v,'c  are  so  framed 
by  Nature  that  their  cJiarm  is  irresistible.  Hence  ail  ages 
and  iiations  have  been  smit  with  tin;  love  of  the  Mus;!e.'"* 
^Yho  can  now  be  at  ;i  loss  to  kn;;-.v  whei'.ce  l';e  l.aniiony  and 
beauty  of  hmguage  arises,  or  what  the  rules  for  obtainin.sf  it 
are  ?  Throutrti  the  whole  paragraph,  the  autlmr  prcceod*^  in 
liio  sann;  careless  and  desuiiory  man:>er,  not  much  mdilvt; 
that  'ji  the  iritical  essa>  upon  the  facultic.';  of  llic  mir.  1 ;  af- 
farding  at  times  some  glimiiieiiiigs  of  sense,  and  pci;::jtuaiiy 

si  solva;!iur,  scgregesiljir,  ct  denudejiliir.  ad  nihiluin  fere  recasiira  I'oriMit.'' 
As  r"  the  caii&cs  •>!'  the  (lec?;-.Uon  l\\v\e.  is  ;ij  this  inanher  of  WMtrng,  1  ahiill 
aueinpt  ilie  iiivesiisnUi;:!  of  ihein  in  ihe  I'ulh^wiiig  cl::;;i'ver. 
*  Oei'.des  on  the  Coinposilio.i  cf  tuc  Ancient^-,  seel.  i. 


272  THE  rniLosopuY  op  rhetoric. 

ringing  the  changes  on  a  few  favourite  words  and  phrases. 
A  poetical  exam[)le  of  t!ie  same  feigaatiire,  in  wliicli  ilu-re  is 
not  even  a  glimpse  of  meaning,  wc  have  in  the  fullowing  lines 
:f  Dry  den: 

"From  harmony,  from  heavenly  hfirmony, 
This  universal  frame  began: 
From  hnniiony  to  harmony, 
Throiigli  all  the  cumjiass  ol  the  notes  it  ran, 
'l"he  diapason  closmg  Jull  in  man."* 
In  general  it  may  bo  said,  that  in  \vritii5gs  of  this  stamp  we 
must  accept  of  sonnd  instead  of  sense,  being  assured,  at  least, 
that  if  we  meet  with  little  that  can  inform  the  judgment,  wc 
shall  find  nothing  that  will  offend  the  ear 

2.    THE   LEARNED. 

Another  sort  I  shall  here  specify  is  the  learned  nonsense. 
I  know  not  a  more  fruitful  source  of  liiis  species  tiian  scho- 
lastic theology.  The  more  incomprehensible  the  subject  is, 
the  greater  scope  has  the  declaimer  to  talk  plausibly  wiihout 
any  meaning.  A  specimen  of  this  I  shall  give  from  :ui  au- 
thor wiio  should  have  escaped  this  animadversion,  had  he 
not  introduced  from  the  pulpit  a  jargon  which  (if  we  can  say 
without  impropriety  that  it  was  fit  for  anything)  was  surely 
fitter  for  a  cloister;  for  what  cannot  in  the  least  contribute 
to  tlie  instruction  of  a  Christian  society,  may  afibrd  excellent 
matter  of  contemplative  amazement  to  dronish  monks.  '"Al- 
though we  read  of  several  properties  attributed  to  God  in 
Scripture,  as  wisdom,  goodness,  justice,  &c.,  we  must  not 
apprehend  them  to  be  several  powers,  habits,  or  qualities,  as 
they  are  in  us;  for  as  they  are  in  Cod,  they  are  neither  dis- 
tinguished from  one  another,  nor  from  his  nature  or  e^ssetice 
in  whom  they  are  said  to  be.  In  whom,  I  say,  they  are  saiti  to 
be  ;  for,  to  speak  properly,  they  are  not  in  him.  but  are  his  very 
essence  or  nature  itself ;  which,  acting  severally  upon  several 
objects,  seem  to  us  to  act  from  several  properties  or  perfections 
in  him  ;  whereas,  all  the  difference  is  only  in  onrdifierent  ap- 
prehensions of  the  same  thing.  God  in  hunself  is  a  most  sim- 
ple and  pure  act,  and  therefore  cannot  have  anything  in  him 
but  what  is  that  most  simple  and  pure  act  itself;  which,  seeing 
it  bringeth  upon  every  creature  what  it  deserves,  we  conceive 
of  it  as  of  several  divine  perfections  in  the  same  alinighty  Be- 
ing ;  whereas  God,  whose  understanding  is  infinite  as  himself 
doth  not  apprehend  himself  under  the  distinct  notions  of  wis 
dom,  or  goodness,  or  justice,  or  the  like,  but  only  as  .Jeliovah.'-j 
How  edifying  must  it  have  been  to  tlie  hearers  to  be  made 
acquainted  with  these  deep  discoveries  of  the  men  of  sci- 
ence:  divine  attributes,  wriicli  are  no  attributes,  which  are 
totally  distinct  and  perfectly  the  same  ;  which  are  justly  as 

*  Song  for  St.  Cecilia's  Day,  IGST.  t  Beveiidge's  Sermons 


THE    PHILOSOrilY    OF    RHETORIC.  273 

cribed  to  God,  beisijr  ascribed  lo  luiii  in  Scripture,  lnit  do  not 
belong  to  iiiin  :  which  are  soinctiiing  and  no.hing,  wliich  are 
the  iigmeuts  of  liiiiiia;i  iinatrmntion,  men;  ciiimeras,  whicii 
are  tiod  himscdf,  which  are  the  actois  of  all  things  ;  and 
which,  to  siini  up  all,  are  Uiemselvi.s  a  siui|)le  act!  "  VV/io 
is  this  t/tal  dar/nne/h  cotmscl  iij  ivonis  u-illiout  hioule'/^r'/"* 
Call  th.e  tendency  of  such  teaching  be  any  other  than  !••  o^"-- 
plex  and  to  confound,  and  even  to  ihrow  tli(;  hearers  into  uni- 
versal doubt  and  skepiicism!  To  such  a  style  of  explica- 
ti<»n  these  lines  of  our  British  bard,  addressed  lo  tlie  patron- 
ess of  Sophistry  as  well  as  Dulness,  are  admirably  adapted: 
"  Ex[)lniri  upon  a  thing  til!  all  iiifii  doulit  ii, 
Ami  wiiie  aljoui  it,  goddess,  and  abuiil  il."t 

Of  the  same  kind  of  school- metaphysics  are  lliese  lines  ol 
Cowley  ; 

"  Nolliingis  tliere  lo  romp,  arxl  ncithincr  past, 
Bill  an  eternal  nmv  does  always  la^t.'  J 

What  an  insatiable  appetite  has  this  bastard-philosophy  lor 
absurdity  and  coniradiclion !  A  now  tiiat  lasts;  that  is,  an 
instant  which  coutiauos  during  successive  inslanls;  an  eter- 
nal now,  an  instant  tliat  is  n<>  instant,  and  an  eiernii.y  that  is 
no  eternity.  I  have  heard  of  a  preacher  who,  desinuis  to  ap- 
pear very  profound,  and  to  make  observalitMis  on  the  com- 
monest subjects,  wiiich  had  neveroccurred  to  anybody  before, 
remarked,  as  an  instance  of  the  goodnr'ss  of  Providence,  that 
the  moments  of  time  come  successive!}',  and  not  sinuiltaiie- 
ously  or  together,  which  last  method  of  cnmiug  would,  he 
said,  occasion  infinite  confusion  in  the  wojld.  .Many  of  his 
audience  concluded  his  remark  to  be  no  better  than  a  bull  ; 
and  yet  it  is  fairly  defensible  on  the  priaciples  of  the  .school- 
men, if  that  can  be  called  principles  which  consists  merely 
in  words.  According  to  them,  what  Pope  says  hyperboiical- 
ly  of  the  transient  duration  and  narrow  range  of  man,  is  a 
lileril  description  of  the  eternity  and  immonsity  of  God  : 

"  His  time  a  moinent.  and  a  [)oint  his  space. "iji 
I  remember  lo  have  seen  il  somewhere  remarked,  that  man- 
kind being  necessarily  incap;;ble  of  making  a  present  of  any- 
thing lo  God,  have  conceived,  as  a  succedanroiis  expedient, 
the  notion  of  destroying  what  should  be  ofl'ered  to  him,  or,  at 
.'.east,  of  rendering  il  imtit  for  any  purpose.  .Sometiiing  simi- 
lar appears  to  have  taken  place  in  regard  to  the  explana- 
tion of  the  Divine  nature  and  aiiribtites  attempted  by  some 
theorists.  On  a  subject  so  transcendent,  if  il  be  impossible 
lo  1x3  sublime,  it  is  easy  to  be  unintelligible.'  And  that  the 
theme  is  naturally  incomprehensible,  they  .seem  lo  have  con- 
sidered as  a  full  apology  for  them  ia  being  perfectly  absurd 

»  Job,  xxxviii.,  2,  +  Dunciad. 

X  Davideis,  book  i.  ^  Essay  on  Man,  Kp.  L 


274  THE  PHiLosornv  of  p.iiETonic. 

la  the  forme""  casp,  \\\<.?A  ppoplo  could  not  in  strictness  bw. 
slow  upon  tht'ir  M-.i.kcr.  lliey  couhi  ciisily  rcn  Jcr  iiiifit  for  tlie 
list  of  men  ;  and  in  tlic  latter,  if  one  cunnot  j^rasp  what  is 
abovi  thi!  reach  of  reason,  one  can  without  di'Hcujty  say  a 
thoiisaii.'  tilings  which  are  contrary  to  reason. 

But  tiioiitrh  scholastic  theology  be  llie  j)rineipal,  it  is  not 
tlie  only  subject  of  learned  nonsense.  In  other  branches  of 
pneu  natolog}'  we  often  meet  with  rhapsodies  of  the  same 
kind.  I  shall  take  an  example  from  a  late  honourable  wri- 
ter, w'.ic,  though  he  gives  no  quarter  to  the  rants  of  others, 
sometimes  falls  into  the  ranting  strain  himself:  "Pleasures 
are  the  objects  of  self-love  ;  happiness,  that  of  reason.  Rea- 
son is  so  far  from  depriving  us  of  the  first,  that  ha.ppiness 
consists  in  a  series  of  them;  and  as  this  can  neither  be  at- 
taini'd  nor  enjoyed  secmely  out  of  society,  a  due  use  of  our 
reason  makes  social  and  self-love  coincide,  or  even  become 
in  effect  ihe  same.  'I'he  condition  wherein  we  are  boni  a::J 
bred,  the  very  condition  so  mnch  compJaiMed  of,  prepares  us 
for  this  coincidence,  the  foundation  of  all  hu'.nan  happiness; 
and  our  whole  nature,  aj)petite,  passion,  and  reason  concur 
to  promote  it.  As  our  parents  loved  themselves  in  us,  so 
we  love  ourselves  in  our  children,  and  in  those  to  whom  we 
are  most  nearly  related  by  blood,  'rinis  far  instinct  improves 
self-love.  Reason  improves  it  farther.  We  love  ourselves 
in  our  neighbours,  and  in  our  friends  too.  with  Tully's  leave  ; 
for  if  friendship  is  formed  by  a  kind  of  sympathy,  it  is  culti- 
vated by  go'jj  ofTices.  Reason  proceeds.  We  love  our- 
selves in  loving  the  political  body  whose  membeis  we  are; 
and  we  love  ourselves  when  we  extend  our  benevolence  to  all 
mankind.  These  are  the  genuine  effects  of  r(!as()n."*  I  would 
not  be  understood  to  signify  that  tliere  is  no  meaning  in  any 
clause  of  this  quotation,  but  that  the  greater  part  of  it  is  un- 
meaning; and  that  the  whole,  instead  of  exhibiting  a  con- 
nected train  of  thought,  agreeably  to  the  author's  intention, 
presents  us  only  with  a  few  trifling  or  insigniiicant  phrases 
speciously  strung  together.  The  very  first  sentence  is  just- 
.y  exceptionable  in  tliis  respect.  Had  he  said,  "  Pleasure  is 
ihe  object  of  appetite,  happiness  that  of  self-love,"  there  had 
been  some  sense  in  it ;  as  it  stands,  1  suspect  there  is  none. 
Pope,  the  great  admirer  atul  versifier  of  this  philosopliy,  halli 
succeeded  much  belter  in  contradistinguishing  the  provin- 
ces of  reason  and  passion,  where  he  says, 

"  Reason  ihe  card,  but  passion  is  the  gale."t 
This  always  the  mover,  that  the  guide.     As  the  card  serve.s 
equally  to  point  to  us  the  course  thai  we  must  steer,  whatev- 
er be  the  situation  of  t\vj  pori  we  are  b;>und  for,  east  or  west, 
south  or  north,  so  reason  serves  equally  lo  indicate  the  means 

•  Bolingb.  Ph.  Fr.,  51.  t  Essay  ou  Maa,  Ep.  it 


THE   PHILOSOrnV    OF   BnETOEIC.  <*5 

that  we  must  employ  for  the  nttainmcnt  of  rny  ei^l,  wn.iicv- 
cr  ili;U  cud  he  (riglit  or  wroii-r-  profii.iljlc  or  pcmicio.i;),  wiiicli 
passion  impels  us  to  ntirsiu\*  All  that  foiluws  of  the  p;ii-s;;gs 
(juoted  ;ibouiK!s  willi  liie  like  l-jo>>e  nr.d  jrideiiiiili-  ('cciiitii.i- 
liim.  U'llie  aulhor  luid  any  iiie;uii!i{r,  ;i  point  very  nue^iioii- 
;;ble,  lio  liatli  been  very  uaJiappy  and  very  uiiphilosopliical  m 
expressing  it.  What  arc  we  to  make  ol'  the  tuineidt  ncc  or 
oainenes--  of  self-love  and  social  afit-ctioii  produced  by  rea- 
son I  What  of  parents  h)vin<r  tiiemselves  in  their  c'cildrc:.  ? 
&e..  &c.  Anyiliing  you  please,  or  iiotliing.  It  is  a  saying 
of  Ilobbes,  whicli  ihis  antlior  liaih  quoted  with  deserved  coin- 
mendaiion,  that  "words  are  Ihc  eoujUers  of  wise  men,  but 
the  money  of  fools."  The  ihought  is  ingcnii)us  "aid  haj-piiy 
expressed.  1  sliall  only  remark  npoii  it,  liiat  tliis  iiob!e  v.ri- 
ter  j:iay  be  produced  as  one  of  many  wiiii."s«;es,  l'>  prove  lii.'.t 
it  is  not  peculiar  to  fools  to  fail  into  liiis  error.  lie  is  a  v.isc 
man  indeed  wiio  never  mistakes  tlicsc  counters  for  ieg;:!  coin, 
bo  jnueli  for  the  learned  nous:'nse  ;  and  donlitl-js-,  if  no;;- 
.'jense  ever  utscrve.s  to  be  exposed,  it  is  wlicn  she  has  the  ar- 
rogance to  assume  tire  garb  of  wisdom 

3.    THE    PROFOeND. 

I  proceed  in  nnolher  species,  whieii  I  shvJl  c?cnominaie  /lie 
profaiin/l,  and  which  is  most  eoiiimonly  to  be  met  with  in  po 
litical  writings.  Nowhere  else  i\o  wc  find  the  merest  no- 
things set  ofl"  with  an  air  of  solemnity,  as  the  result  of  very 
deep  thought  and  sage  relleclion.  Of  this  kind,  however.  I 
shall  produce  a  specimen,  wliieh,  in  eoufirmatian  of  ii  remark 
made  in  the  preceding  parr.graph,  sluill  be  taken  from  a  justly 
celebraleu  tract,  of  a  JusUy  celebrated  pen  :  '•  "I"is  agreei!,'' 
says;  Swif;,  '*  that  in  all  governments  tlicre  is  a!i  absoinie  and 
unlimited  power,  which  naturally  and  originally  seems  to  be 
placed  in  the  whole  body,  wherever  the  executive  p.ut  of  it 
lies.  This  hoU!s  in  the  body  natural ;  for  wherever  we  place 
the  beginning  of  motion,  whclher  from  the  liead.  or  liie  heart, 
or  the  animal  spirits  in  general,  ilie  body  moves  and  acts  by 
a  consent  of  uU  its  parts. 'f  The  first  senti  ncc  of  tiii>  passage 
contains  one  of  the  most  hacknej'cd  maxims  of  ttie  writers 
on  politics  ;  a  maxim,  however,  of  which  it  will  be  more  dif- 
ficult than  is  commonly  imagined  to  discover,  1  say,  nut  ihc 
justness,  but  the  sense.  The  illustration  from  Ihe  natural 
body,  contained  in  the  second  sentence,  is  indeed  more  gla- 
ringly nonsensical.  What  it  is  that  conslitutes  this  consent 
of  all  the  parts  of  the  body,  which  must  be  obtained  previous- 

*  For  the  farther  eluriilation  of  this  point,  see  the  analysis  cf  persuasion 
given  in  book  i.,  chap.  v,i.,  sect.  iv. 

•f  Disc,  of  ihe  Conlesls  and  Dissensions  in  Athens  and  Kome,  first  senr 
lene* 


27G  TnE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    KHETORIC. 

]y  to  every  motion,  is,  1  will  take  upon  me  to  afUrm,  utterly ' 
incunceivablc.     Yet  the  whole  of  the  paragraph  f;om  which 
this  quotation  is  taken  iiath  such  a  specionsncss  in  it,  that  it 
is  a  liundreJ  to  one  even  ii  judicious  reader  will  jiol,  on  the 
first  perusal,  be  sensible  of  the  defect. 

4.    THE    JIARVKLJUOUS. 

The  last  species  of  nonsense  to  be  exemplified  I  shall  de- 
nominate ike  marvcilims.  It  is  the  characteristic  of  this  kind 
that  It  astonishes  and  even  confounds  by  the  boldness  of  the 
affirmations,  which  always  appear  flatly  to  contradict  the 
plainest  dictates  of  common  sense,  and  thus  to  involve  a 
manifest  absurdity.  1  know  no  sort  of  Titithors  that  so  fre- 
quently abound  in  this  manner  as  some  artists  who  have  at- 
tempted to  philosophize  on  tlie  principles  of  their  art.  I  shall 
give  an  example  from  the  Eujjlish  iranslatiun  of  a  F'rench 
book,*  as  there  is  no  example  which  I  can  remember  at  pres- 
ent in  any  book  written  originally  in  our  own  language  :  "  Na- 
ture," says  this  writer,  "  in  herself  is  unseemly,  and  he  who 
copies  her  servilely,  and  without  artifice,  will  always  pro- 
duce something  pour,  and  of  a  mean  tasle.  What  is  called 
load  in  colours  and  lights  can  only  proceed  from  a  profound 
knowledge  in  the  values  of  colours,  and  from  an  admirable 
industry,  which  makes  the  painted  objects  appear  more  true, 
if  1  may  say  so,  than  the  real  ones.  In  this  sense  it  may  be 
asserted,  that  in  Kubens's  pieces  Art  is  above  Nature,  and 
Nature  only  a  copy  of  that  great  master's  works."  What  a 
strange  subversion,  or  inversion,  if  you  will,  of  all  the  most 
obvious,  and  hitherto  undisputed  truths.  Not  satisfied  with 
affirming  the  unseemliness  of  every  production  of  Nature, 
whom  this  phiiosoplier  hath  discovered  to  be  an  arrant  bun- 
gler, and  the  immense  superiority  of  liuman  Art,  whose  hum- 
ble sc!u)lar  dame  Nature  might  be  proud  to  be  accounted,  he 
riseth  to  asseverations  which  shock  all  our  )iOtions,  and  ut- 
terly defy  the  powers  of  apprehension.  Painting  is  found  to 
be  the  original;  or,  rather,  Rubens's  pictures  are  tiie  original 
and  Nature  is  the  copy;  and,  indeed,  very  consequentially, 
the  former  is  represented  as  the  standard  by  which  the  beau- 
ty and  perfections  of  the  latter  are  to  be  estimated.  Nor  do 
the  qualifying  phrases,  if  I  may  say  sn,  and  in  this  sense  il  may 
lie  asserted,  make  here  tiie  smallest  odds.  For  as  this  sublime 
critic  has  nowhere  hinted  what  sense  it  is  wiiicii  he  denom- 
inates this  sense,  so  i  believe  no  reader  will  be  able  to  coit- 
jecture  what  the  author  mi<zht  have  said,  and  not  absurdly 
said,  to  the  same  effect.  The  misfortune  is,  that  when  the 
expression  is  stripped  of  the  absurd  meaning,]  there  remains 

*  De  Piles's  Principles  of  Painting. 

t  For  the  propriety  anJ  impolt  of  this  expression,  see  ch.  vii.,  sec.  il 


THE  niiLosoriiv  of  khetoeic.  ?77 

notliing  but  balderdash,*  aniiiimcaninsf  jiimblo  of  words  wliich 
at  first  scciii  to  amiouiico  some  great  discovery. f  Speciiiuuis 
of  the  same  kind  are  sometimes  also  to  be  met  with  in  the 
poets.  Witness  the  famous  protestation  of  an  heroie  lover 
in  one  of  Dryden's  plays  : 

"  My  wound  is  great,  because  it  is  so  small." 
Tlie  nonsense  of  which  was  properly  exposed  by  an  extem- 
porary verse  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  who,  on  hearing 
this  line,  exclaimed  in  the  house, 

"It  would  be  greater  were  it  none  at  all." 

Hyperbole,  carried  to  extravagance,  is  much  of  a  piece,  and 
never  fails  to  excite  disgust,  if  not  laughter,  instead  of  admi 
ration.     Of  this  the  famous  laureat  Just  now  qu(jted,  though 
indeed  a  very  considerable  genius,  atlbrds,  among  many  oth- 
er striking  instances,  that  which  follows  : 

'•That  star,  that  at  your  birth  shone  out  so  bright, 
It  stain'd  the  duller  sun's  meridian  bglil."^ 

Such  vile  fustian  ought  to  be  carefully  avoided  by  every  wn 
ler. 

Tims  I  liave  illusti-atcd,  as  far  as  examples  can  illustrate, 
some  of  the  principal  varieties  to  i)e  remarked  in  unmeaning 
sentences  or  nonsense— the  puerile,  the  learned,  the  profound, 
and  the  marvellous;  together  with  lliose  other  classes  of  the 
unintelligible,  arising  either  from  confusion  of  thought,  ac- 
companied v.'ith  intricacy  of  expression,  or  from  an  exces 
sive  aim  at  excellence  in  the  style  and  manner. 

iSo  much  for  the  explication  of  tiie  first  rhetorical  quality 
of  style,  perspicuity,  with  the  three  ways  of  expressing  one's 
self  by  which  it  may  be  injured — the  obscure,  the  double 
meaning,  and  the  unintelligible. 

'  The  latter  part  of  the  sentence  was  thus  expressed  in  the  first  edition, 
"A  jurnble  of  bold  words  without  meaning."  To  this  phraseology  e.xception 
was  taken,  which,  though  not  entirely  just,  appears  to  have  arisen  from 
some  oliscnrity,  perhaps  ambiguity,  in  the  e.^pression.  This,  1  hope,  is  re 
moved  l)y  the  alteration  now  made. 

t  Since  writing  the  aliove  observations,  I  have  seen  De  Piles's  original 
performance,  and  find  that  his  translator  hatii,  in  tiiis  place  at  least,  done 
niin  no  injustice.  'I'he  whole  passage  in  the  French  is  as  (ollow.'s ;  "l.a 
Nature  est  ingtate  d'elle  m^me.  et  qui  s'attacheroit  h  la  copier  sim|)lemeiit 
coinine  elle  est  et  sans  artifice,  (eroit  tonjours  qnelqne  chose  de  pauvre  et 
d'un  trcs  [letil  gout.  Ce  quo  vons  nommez  e.xagerations  dans  les  couleur», 
et  <tans  les  lumieres,  est  une  admirable  indnstrie  qui  lait  paroiire  les  ob- 
\e*s  peints  pbisveritablfs.  s'll  faut  aiiisi  dire,  que  les  voritables  mcmes.  C'est 
jinsi  que  les  tal)leanx  de  J^ubens  sont  plus  l)eanx  que  h  iNa'ure.  laquolle 
•emble  n'etre  que  la  copie  des  ouvra<;es  de  ce  gratul  homme." — IlirneU  de 
divers  Oi'i.rngex  siir  la  Pi-iiitiirt  et  le  Color's,  j>nr  M.  de  Piles.  Paris,  )7iJ5,  ;.). 
225.  Tliis  is  raiher  worse  than  the  Knglish.  Tiie  qualifying  phrase  in  the 
jast  sentei.ce,  we  find,  is  the  iranslator's,  who  seems,  out  ol'  sheer  iiiodc.-ty, 
;o  have  brought  it  to  cover  nudities.  His  intention  was  good,  lait  this  la 
such  a  rag  as  cannot  answer.  %  Drydcn  0:1  the  if  estoration. 

A    A 


278  THE  puiLOsornY  of  niiETonic. 


CTT AFTER  VII. 

WHAT    IS    TI!r    CAVSK    THAT    NONs:-NSK    Sti    <  FTEN    ESCAPES    B!fIX<3 

uiiiEcTCD,  i'.o;h  !;v  the  wiiirK::  and  bv  the  iieadeh  ' 
SECTION  I. 

THE    KATCUE    AND    POWER    OF    SIGN"?,  DOTH    I.\    SPCAKINU    AND   IX   THINK 
IXfi. 

BeroRE  quitiinj  iho  subject  of  pfispicuity,  it  v.'ill  n';t  hn 
niniss  to  inquire  isito  t!ie  c-niso  of  tliis  struijre  i)!icnonieiiO!i ; 
that  evf-ii  u  in::'.i  of  c!isceni:neiU  slionid  write  \viti;out  mt^an- 
iijg,  •-uul  not  l:o  eiMisi'-le  ih;::  lie  iialli  no  iin-aiiing;  sui.!  tli;it 
juvicious  people  siiou'ui  rc;id  what  lialii  been  written  in  this 
"wHy,  and  not  oiscoviM-  the  uefect.  Koth  ure  surprising,  but 
thn'firsr  much  more  i!i;in  (ho  l...st.  A  cerJ;iin  remissnes.s  will 
at  times  .s;-izc;  the  most  Jittenlive  reader,  whereas  i\u  :uithor 
of  discernment  is  supposed  to  liave  ciirefniiy  digested  all  that 
he  wii.es.  It  is  reported  of  Lopez  de  Veg  i.  a  fcOiioMs  Span- 
is!i  pot  t,  ih:it  the  Bishop  of  Bcller,  being  in  Spain,  asked  him 
U)  explain  one  of  his  sonnets,  which  he  said  he  had  often 
road,  but  never  understood.  L<ipez  took  tip  the  sonnet,  and 
after  reading  it  several  times,  frankly  acknowledged  that  he 
did  not  im.ierstand  it  liintself;  a  discovery  which  the  poet 
pro!)al)iy  never  made  before. 

But  th'.iugh  the  general  fact  liatli  frequently  been  observed, 
!  do  not  find  that  any  attempt  iiath  been  yet  made  to  accou:U 
fjr  it.  Berkeley,  indeed,  in  his  Principles  of  Human  Knowl- 
edge, hath  s*5rgesled  a  theory  concerning  language,  tiiough 
noi  with  this  view,  whicli.  if  well  founded,  will  go  far  to  re- 
move the  principal  difilculty :  "  It  is  a  received  opinion,"  says 
that  aiiihcn-,  "  that  language  has  no  other  end  but  the  com- 
municating our  iiieas,  and  that  every  significant  name  stands 
for  an  idea.  'I'his  being  so,  and  it  being  withal  certain  that 
names,  which  yet  are  not  tliought  altogether  insignificant, 
do  not  always  mark  out  particular  conceivaldt:  ideas,  it  is 
straightway  concluded  that  they  stand  for  abstract  notions. 
ThM  there  are  many  names  in  use  among  speculative  mc!i 
which  do  not  always  suggest  to  others  determinate  particu- 
lar ideas,  is  \\\vA  nobody  will  deny.  And  a  little  attention 
will  discover,  tliat  it  is  not  necessary  (even  in  the  strictest 
reasonings)  significant  names  wiiich  stand  for  ideas  sliouid, 
every  lime  tlu-y  are  used,  excite  in  the  understanding  the 
ideas  they  are  made  to  stand  f  >r.  In  reatiing  and  disc;>ursing, 
iia;n<;s  being  f.)r  the  most  part  used  as  iettv.r>;  are  in  aljiei.ra, 
in  which,  lliongh  a  particniar  quantity  be  marked  by  each  let- 
ter, yet  to  proceed  rigiit,  it  is  not  requi-ate  that  in  eveiy  step 
each  letter' suggest  to  your  thoughts  tiiat  particular  quantity 


TiiE  rini.osGriiY  or  niinTORic.  270 

it  was  appointed  to  stniul  for."*  Tho  s;imc  principli  r.  ]\r.\(^ 
been  a(!oj)tr'(i  hy  tlio  :iiit!i(ir  of  a  Tn'Mtisi-  of  liu:n;ni  N;it'.:ri\ 
wlio,  spcikiiiff  of  alislnu  t  i;!('as,  li;is  lh<'  fitlK-wiiip:  \vor..!s  :  ••  I 
belipve  evt-rv  oiiP  who  f*x;iiiiiiu  s  llie  siHiHliois  of  hi'^  ir.jiid  i:i 
reasoning  will  n^nc  with  me,  tliat  we  i'j  noi  amivx  (]isiin(  I 
and  complete  ideas  to  every  term  wo  make  use  of,  and  that, 
i'l  talUiii<r  *.A  government,  church,  ncgotiuliiri,  rorK/uesi,  we  sel- 
dom spread  out  in  onr  minds  all  the  f-imp.ie  ideas  of  w!:i(!i 
these  complex  ones  are  composed.  "I'is.  however,  ohserva- 
l)le,  that,  iiotwilhstanding  this  impeiT  c!io)i.  w(!  m;;y  avoid 
talkinjr  nonsense  on  these  subjects,  ;\w}  may  perceive  any  nr- 
pugnance  among  the  ideas  as  wcil  as  if  v.'e  had  a  full  (!o:a- 
prehensiou  of  them.  T!m'^  if.  instead  of  saying  that  '//  xciir 
the  icenker  hace  ahont/x  recourse  to  ne<iolialUni.  we  siionid  say 
that  lliey  have  aiwai/x  recourse  to  corx/tiext,  the  custtjm  wlilcM 
we  Inve  acquired  of  attributing eeitaiu  relations  t.'.  i-.l.-as  siiil 
follows  the  W!)r.!s,  and  makes  u-i  immediately  perceive  the 
absurdjiy  of  that  proposiliou."'t  ^omu  excelient  observa- 
tions to  t;ie  same  purpose  have  also  beeu  msue  by  tiie  elj 
giiiU  Intpiirer  into  the  Origin  of  our  Ideas  of  the  Subiime  an  J 
Beaiiliful.J: 

Now  that  the  notions  on  tliis  subject  maiiitr^ined  by  these 
ingenious  writers,  however  strange  t'aey  m:;y  appear  upon  a 
superficial  view,  are  well  founded,  is  at  least  presumrdno 
from  this  consideration  ;  tijat  if,  agreeabi}'  to  the  comm.iii 
hypothesis,  we  could  understand  not!;i:ig  that  is  said  but  hy 
actually  comp'iring  i:i  our  minds  all  the  ileas  sigr.ifici'.  it 
woul !  be  impossible  that  nonsense  shoid  I  ever  «'scape  'm-iis- 
covered,  at  least  that  we  should  so  far  impose  upon  .itirs'^Ivcs 
as  to  think  w-e  understand  what  iu  reality  is  n;)t  to  le.  under- 
stood. We  should,  in  that  case,  find  ou»e'ves  in  the  same 
situation,  w!k  n  an  unmeaning  sentence  is  introduced  i!:to  ;: 
discourse,  wherein  we  find  ourselves  when  a  sentence  is  quo- 
ted in  a  language  of  which  we  arc  entirely  ignorant ;  we  are 
never  in  the  smallest  danger  of  inragining  tliat  we  apprehend 
the  meaning  of  the  quotation. 

But,  though  a  very  curious  fact  hatli  been  taken  notice  oj 
by  those  expert  metaphysicians,  and  such  a  fact  as  will  per- 
liaps  account  for  the  deception  we  are  now  considering,  yet 
the  fact  its*^!!'.  iu  my  apprehension,  halli  not  been  sulliciciiiiv 
accounted  for.  That  mere  sounds,  which  are  used  only  as 
signs.  <iud  liave  no  natural  conti'-xion  wiili  the  things  w!u'i'.>- 
cf  they  are  signs,  should  convey  knowledge  to  the  mind,  oven 
when  they  «'Xcite  no  ideaof  tlie  things  siguiPed,  mtisl  appear 
at  first  extrt^uudy  my.sterious.  It  is,  tlierefcr.-,  v>o;th  while 
to  cousid(!rlhe  matter  more  closely  ;  and  in  or-ler  :••  ihi^,  it 
will  be  proper  to  attend  u  little  to  the  '.hrca  f'jlL\vi;.g  eon- 

•  Introd.,  sect.  xLx.        t  Vol  i.,  book  i.,  pail  j.,  sect.  \iL        1  I'art  v 


2S0  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    EHETORIC. 

nexions  :  first,  tliat  which  snbsisteth  nuiong  things  ;  spcona- 
ly,  tliut  which  subsislelh  between  words  and  things;  thirdly, 
that  which  subsisletli  among  words,  or  the  different  terms 
used  in  the  same  language. 

As  to  the  first  of  these  connexions,  namely,  that  which  sub- 
sistelh  among  things,  it  is  evident  that  this  is  original  and 
natural.  There  is  a  variety  of  relations  to  be  found  in  things 
by  which  they  are  connected.  Such  are,  among  several  otTi- 
ers,  resemblance,  identity,*  equality,  contrariety,  cause  and 
effect,  concomitancy,  vicinity  in  time  or  place.  These  we 
become  acquainted  with  by  experience  ;  and  they  prove,  by 
means  of  association,  the  source  of  various  combinations  of 
ideas  and  abstractions,  as  they  are  commonly  denominated 
Hence  mixed  modes  and  distinctions  into  genera  and  species, 
of  the  orign  of  which  1  have  had  occasion  to  speak  already. f 

As  to  the  second  connexion,  or  that  which  subsisteth  be- 
tween words  and  things,  it  is  obvious,  as  hath  been  hinted 
formerly,  that  this  is  not  a  natural  and  necessary,  but  an  ar- 
tificial and  arbitrary  connexion,  rs'evertheless,  though  this 
connexion  hath  not  its  foundation  iii  the  nature  of  things,  but 
in  itie  inventions  of  men,  its  effect  upon  the  mind  is  much 
the  same  ;  for,  having  often  had  occasion  to  observe  partic- 
ular words  used  as  signs  of  particular  things,  we  hence  con- 
tract a  habit  of  associating  the  sign  with  the  thing  signified, 
insomuch  that  eitiier  being  presented  to  the  mind  frequently 
introduces  or  occasions  the  appreliension  of  the  other.  Cus 
tom,  in  tiiis  instance,  operates  precisely  in  tliQ  same  manner 
as  in  the  formation  of  experience  formerly  explained.  Thus, 
certain  sounds,  and  the  ideas  of  things  not  naturally  related 
to  them,  come  to  be  as  strongly  linked  in  our  conceptions  as 
the  ideas  of  things  luiluraliy  related  to  one  another. 

As  to  the  third  connexion,  or  that  which  subsisteth  among 
words,  I  would  not  be  understood  to  mean  any  connexion 
among  llie  words  considered  as  sounds,  such  as  tliat  which 
results  from  resemi)lance  in  pronunciation,  equality  in  the 
number  of  syllables,  sameness  of  measure  or  cadence;  I 
mean  solely  that  connexion  or  relation  which  comes  grad- 
u.iUy  to  subsist  among  the  different  words  of  a  language,  in 
the  minds  of  those  who  speak  it,  and  which  is  merely  conse- 
quent on  this,  that  those  words  are  enaployed  as  signs  of 
connected  or  related  things.  It  is  an  axiom  in  geometry, 
that  things  equal  to  the  same  thing  are  equal  to  one  anoth- 

*•  It  may  be  thought  improper  to  menlion  identity  as  a  relation  by  which 
different  tilings  are  i;i)iiiiecte(l ;  but  it  must  be  observed,  that  I  only  mean  so 
far  dfferent  AS  to  constitute  distinct  oljjects  to  the  ininci.  Thus  the  con- 
si  leralioii  ol  the  sairte  person,  when  a  child  and  when  a  man.  is  the  con- 
sideration of  ditferenl  objects,  between  which  there  subsists  the  reialion  ol 
identity. 

t  Book  i.,  chap,  v.,  sect,  ii.,  part  ii.    On  the  Fornaation  of  Experience. 


THE    PIIILOSOrilY    OF    RHETORIC.  281 

er.  It  may,  in  like  manner,  be  admitted  as  an  axiom  in 
psychology,  tliat  ideas  associated  by  tlio  same  itiea  will  as- 
sociate one  another.  Hence  it  will  happen,  that  il"  from  ex- 
periencing tiic  comiexion  of  two  things,  there  results,  as  in- 
fallibly there  will  result,  an  association  between  the  ideas  or 
notions  annexed  to  them,  as  each  idea  will  moreover  be  as- 
sociated by  its  sign,  there  will  likewise  be  an  associalioiv  be- 
tween the  ideas  of  the  signs.  Hence  the  sounds  considered 
as  signs  will  i)e  conceived  to  have  a  connexion  analogous  to 
that  which  subsistelh  among  liie  things  signiiied  ;  I  say,  l!ic 
sounds  considered  as  signs  ;  for  this  way  of  considering  them 
constantly  attends  us  in  speaking,  writing,  liearing,  and  read- 
ing. When  we  purposely  abstract  from  it,  and  regard  them 
merely  as  sounds,  we  are  instantly  sensible  that  they  arc 
quite  uncoimnected,  and  have  no  other  vela-ion  than  what 
ariseth  from  similitude  of  tone  or  accent.  But  to  consider 
them  in  this  manner  commonly  results  from  previous  design, 
and  requires  a  kind  of  eftbrt  which  is  not  exerted  in  the  or- 
dinary use  of  speech.  In  ordinary  use  they  are  regarded 
sjlely  as  signs,  or,  rather,  they  are  confounded  with  t!ie 
things  they  signify  ;  the  consequence  of  which  is,  that  in  the 
manner  just  now  explained,  we  come  insensibly  to  conceive 
a  connexion  among  them  of  a  very  different  sort  from  that 
of  which  sounds  are  naturally  susceptible. 

Now  this  conception,  habit,  or  tendency  of  the  mind,  call 
it  which  you  please,  is  considerably  strengthened  both  by  the 
frequent  use  of  language  and  by  the  structure  oi'  it.  It  is 
strengthened  by  the  frequent  use  of  language.  Language  is 
the  sole  channel  ihruugh  which  we  comnumicate  our  knowl- 
edge and  discoveries  to  others,  and  through  wliich  the  knowl- 
edge and  discoveries  of  others  are  comnuinicated  to  us.  13y 
reiterated  recourse  to  this  medium,  it  necessarily  happens, 
that  when  things  are  related  to  each  other,  the  words  signi- 
fying those  things  are  more  commonly  brought  together  in 
discourse.  Hence  the  words  and  names  themselves,  by  cus- 
tomary vicinity,  contract  in  the  fancy  a  relation  additional  to 
that  whicii  they  derive  purely  from  being  the  symbols  of  re- 
lated things.  Farther,  this  tendency  is  strengthened  by  the 
strjcture  of  language.  All  languages  whatever,  even  Ihe 
most  barbarous,  as  far  as  hath  yet  appeared,  are  of  a  regular 
and  analogical  make.  The  consequence  is,  that  similar  rela- 
tions in  things  will  be  expressed  similarly  ;  that  is,  by  simi- 
lar inflections,  derivations,  compositions,  arrangement  of 
words,  or  juxtaposition  of  particles,  according  to  the  genus 
or  grammatical  form  of  the  particul.ir  tongue.  Now  as,  by 
the  habitual  use  of  a  language  (even  though  it  were  quite  ir- 
regular), the  signs  would  insensibly  become  eoniiected  in  the 
imagi-aati.iu,  wiierever  the  things  sr:;Mitied  are  connected  in 
Uttlure,  so,  by  the  regular  structure  of  a  language,  this  cou- 
A  a2 


282  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    EHETCrau. 

nexion  nmo:ig  the  signs  is  conceived  as  analogous  to  thni 
v\!iic!i  S'.ibsi.-tcth  ;i!iioiig  thoir  archclj'pcs.  l''roiii  these  prin- 
ciples we  m;iy  b'  tr.abiod  butii  tio  iiiuinrsliiiid  t';c  inevtniifg 
and  to  perceive  the  justness  of  what  is  aninncd  in  i!ie  end 
of  the  prpce(iii:g  qi.!f>tHtioii :  "  The  ciisioni  which  we  have  ac- 
quired  of  attjihiitiiigcertaiii  relalioiis  to  ideas  still  follows  the 
Words,  and  in;d-.fs  us  immedaU-h/  perceive  tlie  ali'tiirdiij'  of 
that  propusilioii."  Iimiiedutichj,  that  is,  even  before  wc  luive 
leisure  to  give  ihat  attention  to  t'le  signs  vvliic'u  is  necessary 
ill  order  to  form  a  just  conception  of  the  tilings  signified.  In 
coiifirmation  of  this  doctrine  it  may  be  (observed,  tliat  wo 
I'oaliy  think  by  signs  as  well  as  speak  by  them. 

]  have  hillierto,  in  conroniiiiy  !;>  what  is  now  become  a 
genera!  and  inveterate  custom,  and  in  order  !o  avoid  tiresome 
cir':'j!Tiioc;iiiiKis.  nsed  the  terms  sign  and  tdca  as  ex;":ctjy  cor- 
relative. This,  1  am  sensible,  is  not  done  with  strict  prf>pri 
cty.  All  words  are  signs,  but  that  the  signification  criunot  al- 
ways be  represented  by  a;a  idea,  w  ill,  1  appi»  liend,  be  aiiuii- 
ri,i:it!y  evident  t'roni  the  observations  following.  All  the 
tniths  whieii  cotistilute  science,  which  give  exercise  to  rea- 
son, aiid  nre  discovered  by  philosopiiy.  are  general;  ail  our 
ideas,  in  tiie  strierest  sense  o«'  the  w«;rd,  are  particular.  All 
the  p:irlieu}«r  truliis  abr.nt  which  wc  are  conversant  are  prop- 
erly hisloricai,  and  coniposo  tlie  furniture  of  iricmory.  Nor 
do  1  include  under  the  term  his/orical  thv:  l!"ulhs  which  belong 
to  natural  history,  for  even  l!icse  too  are  ge.st^rul.  Nov.'  be- 
yoni  paiticuhir  iruths  or  individaul  facts,  first  perceived  a!".l 
i!ie;i  rea!er.a';er«^d,  wo  shauid  never  be  able  to  priiceed  one 
single  step  in  li::!:king,  any  snore  thasi  in  con vei:<i!:g.  without 
the  use  of  signs. 

Vviien  it,  is  affirmed  that  i/ie  luhoh  is  equal  /a  nl!  its  parts, 
there  caiiiiot  b-e  an  aifinnjtion  wsiich  is  wjyiQ  [.erfeclly  iniel- 
ligibie,  or  wliich  conim;iuds  a  fiillcr  assent.  If.  in  order  to 
compreliend  this,  I  recur  to  ideas,  al!  !!i;.t  [  can  do  is  to  form 
ii  notion  of  some  individual  whole,  diviiled  into  a  certaiii 
SiUniber  of  ijarts,  of  which  it  is  constituterl,  suppose  of  trie 
year  divided  into  the  four  seasons.  Now  all  that  i  can  be 
s::id  to  discern  here  is  the  relation  of  equality  between  this 
particular  whole  asi  1  its  component  parts.  Jf  ]  recur  to 
another  ex-.mph%  •  only  perceive  r.siuither  particular  trutli. 
The  same  li  iids  of  a  third  and  of  a  fourlii.  But  so  far  am  f, 
after  i!ie  perception  of  ten  l!ious;uid  particular  similar  in- 
siances,  from  the  discovery  of  the  universal  trull),  that  if  the 
vm:v\  Jiud  not  the  power  of  considering  iliings  as  sig:is,  or 
particular  ideas  as  representing  an  infiiiily  of  others,  resem- 
b!i:;g  it;  one  circumstance,  ti.oug'i  totally  dissimilar  in  every 
other,!  could  not  so  mucii  as  conceive  the  tr.oani:::;  ofa  wni- 
vorsal  truth.    Ueiice  it  is  that  some  ideas,  to  adopl  liij  C2- 


Tiin  riiiT.osopiiY  OF  ntiETonic.  2S3 

prc5?:(^n  of  tlio  r.ul'ioi  i.Iiove  quoted,  arc  pcr'icii'ar  in  (?^c:r 
hafiirr.h".L  gpiierfil  in  i'lcir  r  /'rrseii/T'ii'n. 

T'U'v-j  is,  !i(>\v(;ver,  it  mn<\  be  ;ici\nnvv?p-?g!;il.  n  ('ifil-.Ti-ty  in 
rxp!  lining  litis  psiwor  ilie  mind  halii  of  C()ii;!ileri!i<j  idivis, 
nni  ill  their  private.  biM,  as  it  were,  in  Hicir  irpresciiintive 
capicity;  wiiicli,  on  th  it  :i;itlior'.s  sysKur.  ulso  <iivi(!i;s  ail  liie 
o!'i<fis  of  ihoii-rlit  intd  iiiipressiur.s  an;)  i'ica:?,  will  lir  A)ii:!;l 
Hit.iffpther  i:!siini):)u:U;:!)le  It  was  lo  avo!<I  this  tlifficii'ty 
t'mt  p!;ili)si»])hrrs  r>\  (irst  recurrcu.  as  is  somotinif^s  tin:  c.!S(-, 
t«»  a  Jsiill  HTealer.  or,  rather,  to  adowiirijjiit  at;siirdi!y.  t!io  doc- 
trine of  absti.ict  ido.is.  I  mean  only  tiiat  dactriae  as  it  Iiath 
bi^en  frequently  explained  :  fm-  if  any  one  is  plcasnd  to  ciil 
th  u  faculty  by  wliicli  a  narticnlar  idea  is  rejr.irded  as  rcpro- 
Rc.-ning  a  uhoie  order  by  iJn  name  ,i:'>:;!r.':cf.ion,  I  have  iiu  ob- 
jeclion  to  the  term  ;  nay.  nnwv,  I  think  it  suilicier.tly  expres- 
sive oi"  the  sense  ;  vvhiiu  ce.'tain  qnilitius  of  the  iiiJividuri'i 
rem:ii;i  un:i;>ticed,  and  are  ihercfMro  abstraeted  from,  thoso 
qualities  only  which  it  lialli  in  comm  )!i  wit!i  tlie  orier  en- 
gross tb.e  minds  attentinii.  ISul  »iiis  is  not  uiiat  tliose  v.ri- 
ters  seem  V)  meaji  who  pbdlosophize  noon  abstract  ideas,  ;is 
is  evident  from  ihcir  own  ex[)!iuati'jn?!. 

The  patron?  of  I'lis  theorv  intintain,  or,  at  ieasf,  expreSo 
themseivas  as  if  thoy  maiat:::ned,  that  t:ie  mini  is  endow;  <I 
witii  a  power  of  forrnin^^  ideas  or  irn.'goo  witiiin  itself,  th.U 
are  possessed  not  o:iiy  of  incoiitrmoi::^,  but  of  iiicotisisier.t 
qualities— of  a  triangle,  for  example,  Hint  v-<  of  all  possible 
(limeiisions  and  pr<»portiiins,  ijoth  in  si.U's  aiid  ajigles.  at  once 
n'g!:t  aujjjl.'.d,  acute  aiigloi,  aiid  obtas:^---ingk'.',  equilateral, 
equicurai,  and  sival( num.  Oae  would  have  lliou^Iit  that  llio 
bare  mention  of  this  hypothesis  would  h;;ve  beeii  equivalent 
to  a  confutation  of  it,  since  it  really  confutes  itself. 

Vet  in  this  manner  one  no  les.s  respect. .bie  in  ine  philo- 
sophic world  thin  i\Ir.  l.ocke  has,  on  tsoiue  occasions,  ex- 
pressed himself.*  1  oonsi  let-  ilie  di.Terea'jc,  'lowever,  on  this 
{O'tiele  between  him  and  the  twj  authors  above  meatione,!, 
as  more  apparent  t!;an  real,  or  {\v!iich  amounls  to  llie  same 
ihinj)  more  in  words  than  in  sentiments,  it  is,  indeed, 
scaicely  possible  that  men  of  discernm.Mit  sliould  thiiik  dil"- 
feren'iy  on  a  sn!)iect  so  perfectly  sulijected  to  every  0i;«^'s 
own  consciousntjss  and  expto-ience.  \Vh.it  has  betrayed  the 
former  into  suidi  unguarde]  and  improper  expressions  is 
p^iiiinly  an  undue,  and.  till  then,  unprecedented  use  of  ilie 
wwrd  id'.a,  which  he  has  eujployed  (lor  t!ie  sake,  I  sup;)ose,  oi 
simplifying  liis  system)  lo  sigaify  not  only,  as  forin:rly,  the 
traces  of  things  retained  in  the  memory,  and  the  images 
formed  by  the  fancy,  but  even  the  percep'ions  of  tiie  ^eiioci 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  concepiii>ns  of  tiie  iiitellect  o:i  llic 

*  Essay  on  Human  Umiei standing,  b.  ii.,c.  .\i.,  sect,s.,.vi.  j  b.  iv.,  c.  vii., 
sect.  ix. 


284  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETOKIC. 

Other,  "  it  hoh^g  that  term  which,"  in  his  opinion,  "  serves 
best  10  stand  lor  whttsoever  is  the  object  of  the  understand- 
ing w  hen  a  man  tliinks.''*  Accordingly,  he  nowiiere,  that  I 
remember,  defines  it,  with  some  h)gici.ui.s,  •'  a  pattern  or  copy 
of  a  thing  in  tlie  mind."  Nevertheless,  he  has  not  always,  in 
speaking  on  the  subject,  aitended  to  the  different  acceptation 
he  liad  m  the  beginning  aflLxed  to  the  word  ;  but.  misled  l)y 
the  common  definilioh  (which  regards  a  more  hnuted  objeci), 
and  applying  it  to  the  teriii  in  tliat  more  extensive  iinpo't 
which  he  had  himself  given  it,  has  fallen  into  tliose  incon- 
sistencies in  language  whicli  have  been  before  observed, 
'i'luis  this  great  man  has,  in  his  own  exaniple,  as  it  were, 
demonstrated  how  difficult  it  is  even  for  ihe  wisest  to  gUi;ni 
uniformly  against  the  incouvenicnccs  arising  from  the  aiu- 
biguiiy  of  words. 

iiut'  tiiat  what  I  have  now  advanced  is  not  spoken  rashly, 
and  that  there  was  no  maierial  difference  between  his  opin- 
ion and  theirs  on  this  arlicle,  is,  I  think,  manifest  from  the 
following  passage  :  "  To  return  to  general  words,  it  is  plain, 
by  what  Ins  been  said,  that  general  and  n.iiversal  belong  not 
to  the  real  existence  of  things,  but  are  the  inventions  and 
creatures  of  tiie  understanding,  in.ide  by  it  for  its  own  use, 
and  concern  only  signs,  whetiier  words  or  ideas.  Words  are 
general,  as  has  been  said,  when  used  for  signs  of  gener;;l 
1  leas,  and  so  are  applicable  indifferently  to  many  pariicnlar 
'hings  ;  and  ideas  are  general  when  lliey  are  set  up  as  the 
representatives  of  many  particular  things;  but  universality 
belongs  not  to  things  themselves,  which  are  all  of  tliem  par- 
ticular in  their  existence,  even  those  icords  and  ideas  ■wluch  in 
Iheir  sign'JicaliuH  are  frencral.  When,  therefore,  we  quit  par- 
ticulars, the  generals  that  rest  arc  only  creatures  of  our  own 
makmg,  Lhcir  general  nalure  being  nallung  Imt  the  capaciiy  Lheij 
are  put  in/o  it/  the  uuders/andingf  of  siginfying  or  represen'mg 
many  particulars.  For  the  signijicatinn  thaij  have  is  nothing  but 
a  relation  that  by  the  mind  of  man  is  added  to  them."\  Nothing, 
in  my  apprehension,  can  be  more  exactly  coincident  witii 
Berkeley's  doctrine  of  abstraction.  Mere  not  only  words, 
bat  ideas,  are  made  signs  ;  and  a  particular  idea  is  made 
general,  not  by  any  change  produced  in  it  (for  then  it  would 
be  no  longer  the  same  iuc:;),  but  ''by  being  set  up  as  ihc 
nijjrcscntative  of  many  particular  things."  Universality,  ho 
observes,  as  it  b<;longs  not  to  lliings,  belongs  not  even  to 
"  those  words  and  ideas  which  are  ail  of  them  particular  in 
their  existence,  but  general  in  their  signification."  Again, 
the  general  nature  of  those  ideas  is  •'  nolhing  but  the  capa- 
city they  are  put  into  by  the  understanding,  ui'  sigiufyiiiar  or 
representing  m.my  particulars  ;"  and,  if  possible,  stiii  more 

*  Es.-ay  oti  Kuniaii  ['iider.-taading,  b.  i.,  c.  i.,  sect.  viii. 
t  ItiiJ.,  b.  lii.,  c.  iii ,  sect.  xi. 


•illE   PHILOSOPHY   OP   RHETOniC.  285 

explicitly,  ='the  sijrnificjition  they  have  i«  nothinpc  but  a  re- 
lalioii ;"'  no  alteration  on  ihcir  t'ss<^iice,  "  thai  by  llie  niiiid  of 
uiHii  is  achleil  to  them." 

iSotiio  of  llio  preatosf  admirors  of  that  eminent  philosopher 
seem  to  leave  overlooked  entirely  the  preeedinfi  aeeoniit  of 
his  sentiments  on  this  snbjeet,  and  throiitrh  I  know  not  vvl.nt 
passion  for  the  paradoxical  (I  slioMld  rnliuir  say,  the  impossi- 
ble and  uiiintidlijjibic).  iiave  shovvn  an  amazing  z"al  for  de- 
fending lite  propriety  of  tlie  hastj'  expvessi.nis  wiiieh  appear 
in  the  passages  forni'^riy  referred  to.  Has  not  the  mind  of 
man,  say  they,  an  niilimiled  power  in  nionlding  and  combi- 
ning its  idiia.s  ?  The  mind,  it  nnist  be  ov,  iief!,  luitii  ;in  unlimit- 
ed jiower  in  moulding  and  combining  iis  ideas.  It  often  pro- 
•diiceil)  wonderful  forms  of  its  own,  out  of  llie  materials  ori- 
ginally supplied  by  sense  :  forms,  indeed,  of  which  there  is  no 
exemplar  to  be  found  in  nature;  centaurs,  and  grifibus, 

•  "  Gorgons,  and  hjdras,  and  chimeras  dire." 

But  still  it  must  not  attempt  absolute  Lmpossibiljtics,  by  giv- 
ing to  its  creature  contradictory  qualities.  It  must  not  at- 
tempt to  conceive  the  same  thing  to  be  black  and  white  at 
the  same  lime,  to  be  no  more  than  three  inches  long,  and  yet 
no  less  than  three  thousand  :  to  conceive  two  or  more  lines 
to  be  both  eqn.d  and  unequal,  the  same  angle  to  be  al  once 
acute,  obtuse,  and  riglit.  These  philosophers  sagely  remark, 
as  a  consequence  of  their  doctrine,  that  the  nuinl  nuist  be 
extremely  slow  in  attaining  so  wonderful  a  talent;  whereas, 
on  the  contrary,  nothing  can  be  more  evident,  than  that  the 
power  of  abstracting,  as  1  have  explained  it.  is,  to  a  certain 
de-^.'-ee,  and  must  be,  as  early  as  the  use  of  speech,  and  is, 
c.'jnsecpient!}',  discoverable  even  in  infants. 

But  if  such  an  extraoi-dinary  faculty  as  they  speak  of  were 
possible,  1  cainiot.  for  my  i)arl.  conceive  what  purpose  it 
could  serve.  An  ide;;  hath  been  defined  by  some  logicians 
the  form  or  resemblance  of  a  thing  in  the  mind,  and  the 
whole  of  its  powfM-  and  use  in  thinkirig  is  supposed  to  arise 
from  an  exact  conl"ormity  to  its  an  hetype.  What,  then,  is 
the  use  or  power  uf  thai  idea,  to  whicli  there  neither  is  nor 
can  be  any  arciieiype  in  nature,  which  is  merely  a  creature 
of  liie  brai!i,  a  monster  tln;t  bears  not  the  likcne.-s  of  any- 
thing i;i  t!ie  universe  ! 

In  the  extensive  sense  iti  which  Locke,  who  is  considered 
as  llie  most  strenuous  supporter  of  that  doclrin.e,  uses  the 
word  i;iea,even  the  percepliiUis  of  the  senses,  as  I  had  occa- 
sion lately  to  remark,  nro.  i'nciuded  under  that  term  ;  and  if 
so,  it  is  unconlrovcrlible,  thai  a  particular  idea  often  serve.s 
as  the  sij?,n  of  a  whole  class.  'J'hns,  in  every  one  of  ['Euclid's 
theorems,  a  pHrticnlar  triangle,  and  a  particular  parallelograni, 
and  ii  particular  circle,  are  employed  as  signs  to  denote  all 


28G  THE    rillLOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

triangles,  all  parallelograms,  and  all  circles.  "When  a  ger.rn- 
rtriciari  makes  a  dingrani  witli  cli:ilk  upon  a  board,  aiirl  i'roin 
it  deiii'jnslrates  some  property  of  a  slraig;!)t- lined  fijjure,  no 
spectator  ever  imagines  that  he  is  demonstrating  a  properly 
of  iioiiiing  else  but  that,  individual  vvliiie  figure  of  five  iiicln-s 
long  wliich  is  before  liim.  10 very  one  is  satisfied  that  lie  i^ 
demonstrati)ig  a  property  of  all  tliat  order,  wlietlier  nn)re  or 
less  extensive,  of  which  it  is  botli  an  example  and  a  sign ;  all 
the  order  being  tmderstood  to  ag>-ee  with  it  in  certain  charac- 
ters, liowever  difi'erenl  in  other  respecls.  Nay,  what  is  more, 
the  mind  witii  the  utmost  facility  extends  or  contracts  the 
representative  power  of  the  sign,  as  the  particular  oc(Msio!i 
requires.  Thus  the  same  equilateral  triaiigie  will  vvitli  equal 
pntpriety  serve  t'or  t!ie  demonstration  not  only  of  a  property 
of  all  equiliteral  triangles,  but  of  a  property  of  all  isosceles 
triangles,  or  even  of  ;i  property  of  all  triangles  whatever. 
Nay,  so  perfectly  is  this  matter  understood,  th.U  if  the  deni- 
onstrator  in  any  part  shoidd  recur  to  some  property,  as  to  t!io 
length  of  a  side,  belonging  to  the.  particular  figure  he  hath 
constructed,  but  not  essential  to  the  kind  menlioncd  in  tlie 
proposition,  and  which  tlie  particular  figure  is  solely  intended 
to  represent,  every  intelligent  observer  would  inslanliy  detect 
the  fallacy.  So  entirely,  for  all  the  purposes  of  science,  doth 
a  particular  serve  for  a  whole  species  or  genus.  Now  wliy 
one  visible  individual,  or,  in  the  style  of  the  above-mentioned 
author,  why  a  particular  idea  of  siglit  should,  in  our  reason- 
ings, serve,  without  the  smallest  inconvenience,  as  a  sign  for 
an  infinite  number,  and  yet  one  conceivable  inlividual,  or  a 
parlicul.'.r  idea  of  imaginalion,  should  not  be  adapted  to  an- 
swer the  same  end,  it  will,  1  imagine,  be  utterly  impossible 
to  say. 

'I'here  is,  however,  a  considerable  difference  in  kind  be- 
tween such  signs  as  these  and  the  words  of  a  language. 
Among  all  the  individuals  of  a  species,  or  even  of  the  most 
extensive  genus,  there  is  still  a  natural  connexion,  as  thry 
agree  in  the  specific  or  generic  character.  But  the  connex- 
ion that  subsisteth  between  words  and  things  is,  in  its  origin, 
arbitrary.  Yet  the  difference  in  tlie  effect  is  not  so  consid- 
erable as  one  would  be  apt  to  imagine.  In  neither  case  is  it 
the  matter,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  but  the  pow<;r 
of  the  sign,  that  is  regarded  by  the  miufl.  We  find  that,  even 
in  demonstrative  reasonings,  signs  of  ihe  latter  kind,  or  mere 
.<!ymbo!s,  may  be  used  with  ;;s  much  clearness  and  success  as 
can  be  conferred  by  natural  signs.  The  operations  bol!i  of 
the  algebraist  and  of  the  arithmetician  are  strictly  of  the  na- 
ture of  demonstration.  The  one  employs  as  signs  llie  letters 
of  the  alphabet,  the  other  certain  numerical  characters.  la 
neither  of  these  arts  is  it  necessary  to  form  ideas  of  the  quan- 
tities and  sums  signilied  ;  in  some  uistances  it  is  even  imoos- 


THK  rn!i..'>9ornv  of  rn-.-vitfr,  '2':J7 

BiVie,  yet  llie  eq;i;itions  iwvl  caleiil'.iioiis  resuliing  thence  urn 
not  tlic  ics-s  iic-Ciirale  ;in;l  couviiiciug.  iio  nuicli  tor  liic  r.a- 
lurc  and  pov\  or  of  artificial  sij^iis. 

Perhaps  I  liavo  saiu  l')0  iiiiifli  on  lliis  subject:  for,  on  re- 
view of  wliat  1  iiave  written,  I  am  even  apprehensive  !csi 
Sfi'iV.o  readers  intng^iiie  lliat.  after  cjuotinir  examples  of  tlie 
I  ;)inf"iiigible  from  other?',  I  have  tiioi!;ihl  fit  to  proiJiice  a 
■\  ery  aiiU'le  specimen  <>f  niy  own.  iCvery  snbject,  it  is  cer- 
tain, is  not  equally  snsceptiide  of  perspicuity  ;  i;ut  iliere  is  ;i 
material  dinerence  between  an  obscwrily  which  ariselh  pure- 
ly from  the  nature  of  the  subject,  and  that  wiiich  is  charge- 
able upon  the  style.  Whatever  regards  the  analysis  of  tiie 
operations  of  the  mind,  which  is  quicker  than  liglitning  in  all 
her  enerfjies,  must  in  a  preat  measure  be  alistruse  and  dark. 
Let,  then,  the  dissatisfied  reader  deijjn  to  bestow  on  the  fon^- 
going  (sbservations  a  seci>nd  perusal :  and  thougii  after  that 
he  should  be  as  much  at  a  loss  as  bet'ore,  the  caso  may  not 
be  without  remedy.  Let  him  not,  therefore,  l)e  discourageil 
from  proceeding  ;  there  is  still  a  possibility  tliat  the  appiica- 
tijn  of  the  principles  whicli  1  have  been  at:emptiiig  to  devel- 
op, will  retlect  some  liglit  on  them  ;  and  if  not.  it  is  but.  a 
few  minutes  thrown  away,  for  I  do  not  often  cuter  oa  such 
profound  researches. 

SECTION  II.  '    ■ 

THE    APPLICATION    OF    THE    PRECEDING    PRINCIPLES. 

Now,  to  apply  this  docfrino  to  the  use  for  which  it  -was  in- 
troduced, let  us  consider  how  we  can  account  by  it  for  these 
phenomena,  tliat  a  man  of  sense  should  sometimes  write  non- 
sense and  not  know  it,  and  tliat  a  man  of  sense  should  sonic- 
times  read  nonsense  and  im;igine  he  understands  it. 

In  the  ])reccding  quotation  iVom  tiie  Treatise  on  Human 
Nature,  the  autlior  observes,  that  "notwithstanding  that  we 
do  not  annex  distinct  and  complete  id'.-as  to  every  term  we 
make  use  of,  we  may  avoid  talking  nonsense,  and  may  per- 
ceive any  repugnance  among  the  ideas,  as  well  as  if  we  liad 
a  full  comprehension  of  them."  'I'his  remark  generally  holds. 
Thus,  in  matters  that  arc  perfectly  familinr,  and  are  level  (o 
an  ordinary  capacity,  in  simple  narration,  or  in  moral  obser- 
vations on  the  occurrences  of  life,  a  man  of  commoji  under- 
standing may  be  deceived  by  specious  falsehood,  but  is  hard- 
ly to  be  gulled  by  downright  nonsense.  Almost  ail  the  pos- 
sible applications  of  the  terms  (in  other  words,  all  the  ac- " 
quired  relations  of  the  signs)  have  become  custoiuary  lo  him. 
'i'he  consequence  is,  that  an  unusual  application  of  any  term 
is  instantly  detected ;  this  detection  breeds  doubt  and  this 
doubt  occasions  an  immediate  recourse  to  ideas.  The  re- 
course of  the  miiul,  when  iu  auy  degree  puzzlod  with  the 


288  THE    PHILOSOPHV    OF    RHETORIC. 

signs.  TO  the  knowledge  it  has  of  the  thing  signified^  is  nntu- 
ral,  and  on  stich  pi.iin  subjects  perfectly  easy  ;  and  of  this  re- 
course, the  discovery  of  I'lC  nieaniiig  or  of  the  uniricaiiiiifj- 
ncss  of  what  is  said  is  the  immediate  cfiect.  But  in  matters 
that  are  by  no  means  familiar,  or  are  treated  in  an  nnconi- 
mo!i  manner,  and  in  sucli  as  are  of  an  abstruse  and  intricate 
nature,  tiie  case  is  widely  different.  There  are  particularly 
tliree  sorts  of  writing  wherein  we  are  liable  to  be  imposed  on 
l.y  words  without  meaning. 
'  'I'he  first  is.  where  there  is  an  exuberance  of  metaphor. 
Nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  this  trope;,  when  tempcr- 
ateh'  and  appositely  used,  serves  to  add  ligiit  to  the  expres- 
sion and  energy  to  the  sentiment.  On  the  contrary,  wlien 
vaguely  and  iutempcrately  used,  nothing  can  serve  more  ef- 
fectually to  cloud  the  sense  uhere  there  is  sense,  and,  by 
consequence,  to  conceal  the  defect,  where  there  is  no  sense 
to  show ;  and  tliis  is  the  case,  not  only  where  there  is  in  the 
same  sentence  a  mixture  of  discordant  metaphors,  but  also 
where  the  metaphoric  style  is  too  long  continued  and  too  far 
pursued.*  The  reason  is  obvious.  In  common  speech  the 
words  are  the  immediate  signs  of  the  thought.  But  it  is  not 
so  here;  for  when  a  person,  instead  of  adopting  metaphors 
that  come  naturally  and  opportunely  in  his  way,  rummages 
the  whole  world  in  quest  of  them,  and  piles  tiiem  one  upon 
another,  when  he  cannot  so  properly  be  said  to  use  metaphor 
as  to  talk  in  metaphor,  or,  rather,  when  from  metaphor  he 
runs  into  allegory,  and  thence  into  enigma,  his  words  are  not 
the  immediate  signs  of  his  thought ;  they  are,  at  best,  ijnt  the 
signs  of  the  signs  of  his  thought.  Hi^  writing  may  theu  be 
called  what  Spenser  not  unjustly  styled  his  Fairy  Queen,  a 
pcrpelunl  allcgori/  or  dark  conceit.  Most  readers  will  account 
it  mn(;h  to  bestow  a  transient  glance  on  the  literal  sense  which 
lies  nearest,  but  will  never  think  of  that  meaning  more  re- 
mote, which  the  figures  themselves  are  intended  to  signify. 
It  is  no  wonder,  then,  that  this  sense,  for  the  disi-overy  of 
which  it  is  necessary  to  see  through  a  double  veil,  should, 
where  it  is,  more  readily  escape  our  observalio'^^and  that 
where  it  is  wanting  we  should  not  so  quickly  miss^'it. 

There  is,  in  respect  of  the  two  meanings,  considerable  va- 
riety to  he  found  in  llie  tropical  style.  In  just  allegory  and 
similitude  there  is  always  a  propriety,  or,  if  you  choose  to  - 
call  it,  eongruit}-,  in  the  literal  sense,  as  well  as  a  distinct 
meaning  or  sentiment  suggested,  which  is  called  the  figura- 
tive sense.  Examples  of  this  are  unnecessary.  Again,  where 
th^.  figurative  sense  is  unexceptionable,  there  is  sometimes 
an  incongruity  in  the  expression  of  the  literal  sense.     This 

'■  ''  Ut  tnodicns  autem  alqne  opportunus  trans!atioi;is  iisus  iiiustrat  ora- 
tioiiem  :  ita  ficqiiens  el  obscur.it  et  lasdio  coaiplet ;  conlinnus  vero  iij  aUe- 
Riiriam  et  oenigtnala  exit." — Quint  ,  1.  viii ,  c  vi. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  289 

is  ahva3^s  the  case  in  mixed  metaphor,  a  tiling  not  unfrcquent 
even  in  good  writers.  Thus,  when  Addison  remarks  that 
"  there  is  not  a  single  view  of  human  nature  which  is  not 
sufficient  to  extinguish  the  seeds  of  pride,"  he  expresses  a  true 
sentiment  somewhat  incongruously  ;  for  the  terms  extinguish 
and  seeds,  here  metaphorically  used,  do  not  suit  each  other. 
In  like  manner,  there  is  something  incongruous  in  the  mix- 
ture of  tropes  employed  in  the  following  passage  from  Lord 
Bolingbroke  :  ''  Nothing  less  than  the  hearts  of  his  people  will 
content  a  patriot  prince,  nor  will  he  think  his  throne  establish- 
ed till  it  is  established  there.'''  Yet  the  thought  is  excellent. 
But  in' neither  of  these  examples  does  the  incongruity  of  the 
expression  hurt  the  perspicuity  of  the  sentence.  Sometimes, 
indeed,  the  literal  meaning  involves  a  direct  absurdity.  When 
this  is  the  case,  as  in  the  quotation  from  the  principles  of  paint- 
ing, given  in  the  preceding  chapter,  it  is  natural  for  the  read- 
er to  suppose  that  there  must  be  something  under  it ;  for  it  is 
not  easy  to  say  how  absurdly  even  just  sentiments  will  some- 
times be  expressed.  But  when  no  such  hidden  sense  can  be 
discovered,  what,  in  the  first  view,  conveyed  to  our  minds  a 
glaring  absurdity,  is  rightly,  on  reflection,  denominated  noii- 
sensc.  We  are  satisfied  that  Do  Piles  neither  thought,  nor 
wanted  his  readers  to  think,  that  Rubens  v/as  really  the  origi- 
nal performer,  and  God  the  copier.  This,  then,  was  not  his 
meaning.  But  what  he  actually  thought,  and  wanted  them 
to  think,  it  is  impossible  to  elicit  from  his  words.  His  words, 
then,  may  justly  be  termed  bold  in  respect  of  their  literal  im- 
port, but  unmeaning  in  respect  of  the  author's  intention. 

It  may  be  proper  here  to  observe,  that  some  are  apt  to  con- 
found the  terms  absurdity  and  nonsense  as  synonymous,  which 
they  manifestly  are  not.  An  absurdity,  in  the  strictesto  ac- 
ceptation, is  a  proposition  either  intuitively"  or  demonstrative- 
ly false.  Of  this  kind  are  these:  "Three  and  two  make 
seven" — "  All  the  angles  of  a  triangle  arc  greater  than  two 
right  angles."  That  the  former  is  false  we  know  by  intu- 
ition ;  that  the  latter  is  so,  we  are  able  to  demonstrate.  But 
the  term  is  farther  extended  to  denote  a  notorious  falsehood. 
If  one  should  afliirm  that  at  the  vernal  equinox  "  the  sun  rises 
in  the  north  and  sets  in  the  south,"  wc  should  not  hesitate  to 
say  that  he  advances  an  absurdity;  but  still  what  he  affirms 
has  a  meaning,  insomuch  that,  on  hearing- the  sentence,  we 
pronounce  its  falsity.  Now  nonsense  is  that  whereof  we  can- 
not say  either  that  it  is  true  or  that  it  is  false.  Thus,  when 
the  Teutonic  iheosopher  enounces  that  "  all  the  voices  of  the 
celestial  joyfulness  qualify,  commix,  and  harmonize  in  the 
fire  which  was  fnjm  eternity  in  the  good  quality,"  I  should 
think  it  equally  impertinent  to  aver  the  falsity  as  tlie  truth  of 
this  enunciation  ;  lor,  though  the  words  grannnatically  form 
a  sentence,  they  exhibit  to  the  understanding  no  judgment, 

B  B 


290  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

and,  consequently,  admit  neither  assent  nor  dissent.  In  the 
former  instances  I  say  the  meaning,  or  what  they  affirm,  is 
absurd  ;  in  the  last  instance  I  say  there  is  no  meaning,  and 
therefore,  properly,  nothing  is  affirmed.  In  popular  lan- 
guage, I  own,  the  terms  absurdity  and  nonsense  are  not  so 
accurately  distinguished.  Absurd  positions  are  sometimes 
called  nonsensical.  It  is  not  common,  on  the  other  hand,  to 
say  of  downright  nonsense  that  it  comprises  an  absurdit)". 

Farther,  in  the  literal  sense  there  may  be  nothing  unsuita- 
ble, and  yet  the  reader  may  be  at  a  loss  to  find  a  figurative 
meaning  to  which  his  expressions  can  with  justice  be  applied. 
Writers  immoderately  attached  to  the  florid  or  highly-figured 
diction  are  often  misled  by  a  desire  of  flourishing  on  the  sev- 
eral attributes  of  a  metaphor  which  they  have  pompousl)' 
ushered  into  the  discourse,  without  taking^the  trouble  to  ex- 
amine whether  there  be  any  qualities  in  the  subject  to  which 
these  attributes  can  with  justice  and  perspicuity  be  applied. 
In  one  of  the  examples  of  the  unintelligible  above  cited, 
the  author  having  once  determined  to  represent  the  human 
mind  under  the  metaphor  of  a  country,  hath  revolved  in  his 
thoughts  the  various  objects  which  might  be  found  in  a  coun- 
try, but  hath  never  dreamed  of  considering  whether  there  be 
any  things  in  the  mind  properly  analogous  to  these.  Hence 
the  strange  parade  he  makes  with  regions  and  recesses,  hollow 
caverns  and  vrirafe  seats,  wasles  and  wildernesses,  fruitful  and 
cultivated  tract':;  words  which,  though  they  have  a  precise 
meaning  as  applied  to  country,  have  no  definite  signification 
as  applied  to  mind.  With  equal  propriety  he  might  have  in- 
troduced all  the  variety"  which  Satan  discovered  in  the  king- 
dom of  darkness, 

"  Rocks,  caves,  lakes,  fens,  bogs,  dens,  and  shades  of  death  ;"* 
or  given  us,  with  Othello, 

"  All  his  travel's  history. 
Wherein,  belihe,  of  antres  vast  and  desarts  idle, 
Rough  quarries,  rocks,  and  hills  whose  heads  touch  heaven, 
'T  had  been  his  bent  to  speak. "t 

So  much  for  the  immoderate  use  of  metaphor,  which,  by-the- 
way,  is  the  principal  source  of  all  the  nonsense  of  orators 
and  poets. 

The  second  species  of  writing  wherein  we  are  liable  to  be 
imposed  on  by  words  without  meaning,  is  that  wherein  the 
terms  most  frequently  occurring  denote  thi:  gs  whicli  are  of 
a  complicated  nature,  and  to  which  the  mind  is  not  sufficient- 
ly familial  ized.  Many  of  those  notions  which  are  called  by 
philosophers  mixed  modes,  come  under  this  denomination. 
Of  these  t!ie  instances  are  numberless  in  every  tongue  ;  such 
Z.^ government,  church,  slate,  constitution,  politt/,  power,  commerce, 

*  Paradise  Lost.  t  Shakspeare. 


THK    PIKLOSOPHY    OF    KIIETORIC.  291 

legislature,  jurisdiction,  proportion,  symmetry,  elegance.  It  will 
considerably  increase  the  danger  ol"  our  beini^  deceived  by  an 
unmeaning  use  of  sucli  terms,  if  they  are,  besides  (as  vei-y 
often  they  are),  of  so  indeterminate,  and,  consetjuently, 
equivocal  significations," that  a  writer,  unobserved  either  by 
himself  or  by  his  reader,  may  slide  from  one  sense  of  the 
term  to  another,  till  by  degrees  he  fall  into  such  applications 
of  it  as  will  make  no  sense  at  all.  It  deserves  our  notice, 
also,  that  we  are  in  much  greater  danger  of  terminating  in 
this,  if  the  different  meanings  of  the  same  word  have  some 
affinity  to  one  another,  than  if  they  have  none.  In  tlie  latter 
case,  when  there  is  no  affinity,  the  transition  from  one  mean- 
ing to  another  is  taking  a  very  wide  step,  and  what  few  Avri- 
ters  are  in  any  danger  of;  it  is,  besides,  what  will  not  so 
readily  escape  the  observation  of  the  reader.  So  much  for 
the  second  cause  of  deception,  which  is  the  chief  source  of 
dU  the  nonsense  of  writers  on  politics  and  criticism. 

The  third  and  last,  and,  I  raaj'  add,  the  principal  species  of 
composition,  wherein  we  are  exposed  lo  thi*  illusion  by  the 
abuse  of  words,  is  that  in  which  the  terms  employed  are 
very  abstract,  and,  consequently,  of  very  extensive  significa- 
tion. It  is  an  observation  that  plainly  ariseth  from  the  na- 
ture and  structure  of  language,  and  may  be  deduced  as  a  co- 
rollary from  what  hath  been  said  of  the  use  of  artificial  signs, 
that  the  more  general  any  name  is,  as  it  comprehends  the 
more  individuals  under  it,  and  consequently  requires  the  more 
extensive  knowledge  in  the  mind  that  would  rightly  appre- 
hend it,  the  more  it  must  have  of  indistinctness  and  obscuri- 
ty. Thus  the  word  lion  is  more  distinctly  apprehended  by 
the  mind  than  the  word  beast,  beast  than  animal,  animal  than 
being.  But  there  is,  in  what  are  called  abstract  subjects,  a 
still  greater  fund  of  obscurity  than  that  arising  from  the  fre- 
quent mention  of  the  most  general  terms.  Names  must  be 
assigned  to  those  qualities,  considered  -abstractly,  which 
never  subsist  independently  or  by  themselves,  but  which 
constitute  the  generic  characters  and  the  specific  differences 
of  things ;  and  this  leads  to  a  manner  which  is  in  many  in- 
stances remote  from  the  common  use  of  speech,  and  there- 
fore must  be  of  more  difficult  conception.  The  qualiries 
thus  considered  as  in  a  state  of  separation  from  the  subjects 
to  which  they  belong,  have  been  not  unfitly  compared  by  a 
famous  wit  of  the  last  century  to  disimbodied  spirits  : 

"He  could  reduce  ail  things  to  <Tcts, 
And  knew  their  natures  and  abstracts  ; 
Where  entity  and  quiddity 
The  ghosts  of  defunct  bodies  fly."* 

As  the  names  of  the  departed  heroes  which  ^Eneas  saw  io 

the  infernal  regions  were  so  constituted  as  effectually  to  elude 

*  Hudibras,  b.  i.,  c.  i. 


292  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

the  embrace  of  every  living  wight,  in  like  manner,  the  atj- 
stract  qualities  are  so  subtile  as  oiien  to  elude  the  apprelien- 
sioii  of  the  most  attentive  mind.  They  have,  1  may  say,  too 
much  volatility  "to  be  arrested,  were  it  but  for  a  moment. 

"  The  flitting  shadow  slips  away. 
Like  winds  or  empty  dreams  that  fly  the  day."* — Diiyden. 

It  is  no  wonder,  then,  tliat  a  misapplication  of  such  words, 
wliether  general  or  abstract,  should  frequently  escape  our  no- 
tice. The  more  general  any  word  is  in  its  signification,  it  is 
the  more  liable  to  be  abused  by  an  improper  or  unmeaning 
application.  A  foreigner  will  escape  discovery  in  a  crowd, 
who  would  instantly  be  distinguished  in  a  select  company. 
A  very  general  term  is  applicable  alike  to  a  mullitude  of  dif- 
ferent individuals,  a  particular  term  is  applicable  but  to  a  few. 
When  the  rightful  applications  of  a  word  are  extremely  nu- 
merous, they  cannot  all  be  so  strongly  fixed  by  habit,  but 
that,  for  greater  security,  we  must  perpetually  recur  in  our 
minds  from  the  sign  to  the  notion  we  have  of  the  thing  sig- 
nified ;  and  for  the  reason  afore  mentioned,  it  is  in  such  in- 
stances difficult  precisely  to  ascertain  this  notion.  Thus  the 
latitude  of  a  word,  though  diilerenl  from  its  ambiguity,  hath 
often  a  similar  efi'ect. 

Farther,  it  is  a  certain  fact,  that  when  we  are  much  accus- 
tomed to  particular  terms,  we  can  scarcely  avoid  fancying 
that  we  understand  them,  whether  they  have  a  meaning  or 
not.  The  reason  of  this  apprehension  might  easily  be  de- 
duced from  what  hath  been  already  said  of  the  nature  of 
signs.  Let  it  suffice  at  present  to  observe  the  fact.  Now, 
on  ordinary  subjects,  if  we  adopt  such  a  wrong  opinion,  we 
may  easily  be  undeceived.  The  reason  is,  that  on  such  sub- 
jects the  recourse  from  the  sign  to  the  thing  signified  is  easy. 
For  the  opposite  reason,  if  we  are  in  such  an  error  on  ab- 
stract subjects,  it  is  next  to  impossible  that  ever  we  should 
be  undeceived.  Hence  it  is,  if  without  offence  I  may  be  in- 
dulged the  observation,  that  in  some  popular  systems  of  re- 
ligion, the  zeal  of  the  people  is  principally  exerted  in  support 
of  certain  favourite  phrases,  and  a  kind  of  technical  and  id- . 
iomatical  dialect  to  which  their  ears  have  been  long  inured, 
and  which  they  consequently  imagine  they  understand,  but 
in  which  often  there  is  nothing  to  be  understood. 

From  such  causes  it  hath  arisen,  that  ever  since  the  earli- 
est days  of  philosophy,  abstract  subjects  have  been  the  prin- 
cipal province  of  altercation  and  logomacliy ;  to  the  support 
of  which,  how  far  the  artificial  dialect  of  the  schoolmen,  nay, 
the  analytics  and  the  metaphysics,  the  categories  and  the 
topics  of  the  justly  admired  Stagyrite,  have  contributed,  we 

♦  Ter  comprensa  manus  effiigit  imago, 

Par  levibiis  ventis,  volucnque  siraillima  somno." — ..Sneid,  1.  6. 


TIIF,    PHILOSOPHY    OF   nHETORIC.  293 

have  considered  already.*  Indeed,  at  lenglli.  dispiilation  in 
the  schools  came  to  be  so  much  a  mechanical  exercise,  that 
if  once  a  man  had  learned  iiis  logic,  and  liad  thereby  come 
to  understand  the  use  of  his  weapons,  and  had  gotten  the 
knack  of  wielding  tliem,  lie  was  qualified,  without  any  other 
kind  of  knowledge,  to  defend  any  position  whatsoever,  how 
contradictory  soever  to  conmion  sense,  and  to  the  clearest 
discoveries  of  reason  and  experience.  This  art,  it  nuisi  be 
owned,  observed  a  wonderful  impartiality  in  regard  to  truth 
and  error,  or,  rather,  the  most  absolute  indifVerenci;  to  both. 
If  it  was  ofiener-employed  in  defence  of  error,  that  is  not  to 
bo  wondered  at ;  for  the  way  of  truth  is  one,  the  ways  of  er- 
ror are  infinite.  One  quahfied  iii  the  manner  above  mention- 
ed could  as  successfully  dispute  on  a  subject  of  which  he  was 
totally  ignorant,  as  on  one  with  which  he  was  perfectly  ac- 
quainted. Success,  indeed,  tended  then  no  more  to  decide 
the  question,  than  a  man's  killing  his  antagonist  in  a  duel 
serves  now  to  satisfy  any  person  of  sense  that  the  victor  had 
right  on  his  side,  and  that  the  vanquished  was  in  the  wrong. 
Such  an  art  as  this  could  at  bottom  be  no  other  than  a  mere 
playing  with  words,  used  indeed  grammatically,  and  accord- 
ing to  certain  rules  established  in  the  schools,  but  quite  in- 
significant, and,  therefore,  incapable  of  conveying  knowledge. 
"  Vain  wisdom  all,  and  false  philosofijiy." 
This  logic,  between  two  and  three  centuries  ago,  received 
a  considerable  improvement  from  one  Raimond  LuUy,  a  na- 
tive of  Majorca,  who,  by  the  ingenious  contrivance  of  a  few 
concentric  movable  circles,  on  the  borders  of  some  of  which 
vvere  inscribed  the  subjects,  of  others  the  predicaments,  <md 
of  others  the  forms  of  questions,  he  not  only  superseded  the 
little  in  point  of  invention  which  the  scholastic  logic  had  till 
then  required,  but  much  accelerated  the  operations  of  the  ar- 
tist. All  was  done  by  manual  labour.  All  the  circles,  ex- 
cept the  outmost,  which  was  immovable,  were  turned  upon 
the  common  centre,  one  after  another.  In  tiiis  manner  the 
disposition  of  subjects,  predicaments,  and  questions  was  per- 
petually varied.  All  the  proper  questions  on  every  subject 
were  suggested,  and  pertinent  answers  supplied.  In  the  same 
way  did  the  working  of  the  engine  discover  and  apply  the 
several  topics  of  argument  that  might  be  used  in  support  of 
any  question.  On  this  rare  device  one  Athanasius  Kircher 
made  great  improvements  in  the  last  century.  He  boasted 
that  by  means  of  a  cofler  of  arts,  divided  into  a  number  of 
small  receptacles,  entirely  of  his  own  contriving,  a  thousand 
prodigies  might  be  performed,  which  eitlier  could  not  b<'  ef- 
fected at  all  by  LuUy's  magical  circles,  or,  at  least,  not  so 
expeditiously, 

*  Book  i.,  chap.  vi. 
B  b2 


294  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

Nothing  can  more  fully  prove  that  the  fruit  of  all  such  con- 
trivances was  mere  words  without  knowledge,  an  empty  show 
of  science  without  the  reality,  than  the  ostentatious  and  ab- 
surd way  in  which  the  inventors  and  their  votaries  talk  of 
these  inventions.  They  would  have  us  believe  that  in  these 
is  contained  a  complete  encyclopedia,  that  here  we  may  dis- 
cover all  the  arts  and  sciences  as  in  their  source,  that  hence 
all  of  them  may  be  deduced  a  priori,  as  from  their  principles. 
Accordingly,  they  treat  all  those  as  no  better  than  quacks 
and  empirics  who  have  recourse  to  so  homely  a  tutoress  as 
experience. 

The  consideration  of  their  pretensions  hath  indeed  satisfied 
me  that  the  ridicule  thrown  on  projectors  of  this  kind,  in  the 
account  given  by  Swift*  of  a  professor  in  the  academy  of 
Logado,  is  not  excessive,  as  I  once  thought  it.  The  boasts 
of  the  academist,  on  the  prodigies  performed  by  his  frame, 
are  far  less  extravagant  than  those  of  the  above-mentioned 
artists,  which  in  truth  they  very  much  resemble. f 

So  much  for  the  third  and  last  cause  of  illusion  that  was 
taken  notice  of,  arising  from  the  abuse  of  very  general  and 
abstract  terms,  which  is  the  principal  source  of  all  the  non- 
sense that  hath  been  vented  by  metaphysicians,  mystagogues 
and  theologians. 

*  Gulliver's  Travels,  part  iii. 

t  At  what  an  amazing  pitch  of  perfection  doth  Knittelius,  a  great  admirer 
both  of  Lully  and  Kircher,  suppose  that  the  adepts  in  this  literary  handi 
crart  may  arrive.  The  assiduous  and  careful  practice  will  at  length,  ac- 
cording lohim, fully  instruct  us  :  "Quomododequacunquere  proposita  sta 
tim  librurn  concipere,  et  in  capita  divulere,  de  quacunque  re  extempore  dis- 
serere,  argumentari,  de  quocurique  Ihemate  orationem  formare,  oiaiionem 
mentalem  per  horam  dies  et  septinianas  protrahere,  rem  quamcunque  de- 
scribere,  per  apologos  et  fabulas  proponere,  emblemataet  hieroglyphica,  in- 
venire,  de  quacunque  re  historias  e.xpeditfe  scribere,  ;;dversaria  de  quacun- 
que re  facere,  de  quaciniqne  materia  consilia  dare,  omnes  arguitas  ad  unam 
regulam  reducere.  sissumpturn  thema  in  infinitum  multiplicare,  ex  falso  rem 
dernonstrare,  quidlibet  per  qnidlibet  probare,  possimus."  Quirinus  Kuhl- 
manus,  another  philosopher  of  the  last  century,  in  a  letter  to  Kircher,  hath 
said,  with  much  good  sense,  concerning  his  cofier,  "  Lusus  est  ingeniosus, 
ingeniosc  Kirchere,  non  methodus,  prima  fronte  aliquid  promittens,  in  re- 
cessu  nihil  solvens.  Sine  cista  enim  puer  nihil  potest  respondere,  et  m 
cista  nihil  prseter  verba  habet ;  tot  profert  quot  audit,  sine  intellectu.  ad  in- 
star  psittaci  et  de  iilo  jure  dicilur  quod  Lacon  de  philomela,  Vox  est.  prce- 
tereaquK  ntliil."  Could  anybody  imagine  that  one  who  thought  so  justly  of 
Kircher's  device  was  himself  the  author  of  another  of  the  same  kimi  ?  He 
had.  it  seems,  contrived  a  scientific  machine  that  moved  by  v^•heels,  with 
the  conception  of  which  he  pretended  to  have  been  inspired  by  Heaven,  but, 
unfortunately,  he  did  not  live  to  publish  it.  His  only  view,  therelore,  in 
the  words  above  quoted,  was  to  depreciate  Kircher's  engine,  that  he  might 
the  more  eii'ectually  recommend  his  own.  "  Multa  passim,"  says  Morhoff 
concerning  hinr  (Polyhislor,  vol.  i.,  lib.  ii.,  cap.  v.),  "de  rotis  snis  combina- 
toriis  jactat,  quibus  ordinatis  unus  homo  miilies  mille,  imo  millies  millies 
mille  scribas  vincat ;  qui  tamen  primarius  rotarum  scopus  non  est,  sed  gran- 
dier  longe  restat  :  nempe  notitia  providentiae  aeternae,  orbisqne  terrarum 
motus."    And  again:  "Nee  ullus  hominum  tam  insulso  'udicio  praeditua 


THE    PHILOSOPIIV    OP  RHETORIC.  295 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    EXTENSIVE    USEFULNESS    OF    PERSPICUITY. 

SECTION  I. 

WHEN   XS    OBSCURITY    AfPOSITE,    IF    KVER     IT    BE    APPOSITE,    AND    WHAT 
KIND  ! 

Having  fully  considered  the  nature  of  perspicuity,  and  the 
various  ways  in  which  the  laws  relating  to  it  may  be  trans- 
gressed, I  shall  now  inquire  whether,  to  be  able  to  transgress 
with  dexterity  in  any  of  those  ways,  by  speaking  obscurely, 
ambiguously,  or  unintelligibly,  be  not  as  essential  to  the  per- 
fection of  eloquence  as  to  be  able  to  speak  perspicuously. 

Eloquence,  it  may  be  said,  hath  been  defined  to  be  that  art 
or  talent  whereby  the  discourse  is  adapted  to  produce  the  ef- 
fect which  the  speaker  intends  it  should  produce  in  the  hear- 
er.* May  not,  then,  obscurity,  on  some  occasions,  be  as 
conducive  to  the  effect  intended,  as  perspicuity  is  on  other 
occasions  ?  If  the  latter  is  necessary  in  order  to  inform,  is 
not  the  former  necessary  in  order  to  deceive'?     If  perspicu- 

est,  qui  hac  institutione  libros  doctos,  novos,  utiles,  omni  rerum  scientia 
plenos,  levissima  opera  edere  non  potest."  How  much  more  modest  is  the 
professor  of  Logado.  "  He  Hatters  himself,  indeed,  that  a  more  iioblo,  ex- 
alted thought  than  his  never  sprang  in  any  other  man's  head."  hut  doth  not 
lay  claim  to  inspiration.  "  Every  one  knows,''  he  adds,  "  how  laborious  the 
usual  method  is  of  attaining  to  arts  and  sciences  ;  whereas,  by  his  contri- 
vance, the  most  ignorant  person,  at  a  reasonable  charge,  and  with  a  little 
bodily  labour,  may  write  books  in  philosophy,  poetry,  |)oiiiics,  law,  mathe- 
matics, and  theology"  (no  mention  of  history),  ••  without  the  least  assistance 
from  genius  and  study."  He  is  still  modest  enough  to  require  time  and 
some  corporeal  e.xercise  in  order  to  the  composing  of  a  treatise  ;  but  those 
artists  propose  to  bring  a  proficient  "  statim  hbrum  concipere"  instantly, 
"  levissiina  opera."  with  little  or  no  pains.  I  shall  conchule  with  laying 
before  the  reader  the  opinion  of  Lord  Verulam  concerning  the  Lullian  art — 
an  opinion  that  may.  with  equal  justice,  be  applied  to  the  devices  of  all 
Lully's  followers  and  imitators:  "Ncqne  tameii  illud  prslermiUendum, 
quod  nonnulli  viri  inagis  tumidi  quain  docti  insudarunt  circa  mclhodum 
quandam,  legitime  methodi  nomine  hand  dignarn,  cum  potius  sit  methodus 
imposlurfe,  quae  tamen  quibnsdam  ardeliombus  acceptissima  procul  dubio 
fuerit.  Hasc  methodus  ita  scientia)  alicujus  guttulas  aspergit,  ut  quis  scio- 
lus  sgecie  nonnulla  eruditionis  ad  ostentationem  possit  abuti.  Talis  fuit 
ars  LuUi,  talis  typocosmia  a  nonnuHis  exar,ata;  qua?  nihil  aliud  fiierunt, 
quam  vocabulorun.  artis  cujusque  massa  et  acervus :  ad  hoc,  ut  qui  voces 
artis  haherant  in  promptu,  eiiam  artes  ipsas  pordidicesse  existimentur. 
Htigus  generis  collectanea  oflicinam  referunt  veteramfntariam,  iibi  pra»sig- 
miiia  multa   reperiuntur,  sed  nihil  quod  alicujus  sit  [)retii." — />  Augin. 

Scien.,  lib.  vi.,  cap  ii.  I  shall  only  observe,  that  when  he  calls  this  art  a 
method  of  imposture,  he  appears  to  mean  that  it  puts  an  imposition  upon 
the  mind,  not  so  much  by  infusing  error  instead  of  truth,  as  by  amusing  us 

vith  mere  words  instead  of  useful  knowledge.  *  Book  i.,  chap.  i. 


29G  THE  riiiLosoi'HY  of  f.hrtoric. 

ity  be  expedient  in  convincing  us  of  truth  and  persuading  us 
to  do  right,  is  not  its  contrary,  obscurity,  expedient  in  effect- 
ing the  contrary  ;  that  is,  in  convincing  us  of  wliat  is  false, 
and  in  persuading  us  to  do  wrong?  And  may  not  cither  of 
these  effects  be  the  aim  of  the  speaker  1 

This  way  of  arguing  is  far  more  phiusible  than  just.  To 
be  obscure,  or  even  unintelligible,  may,  I  acknowledge,  in 
some  cases,  contribute  to  the  design  of  the  orator,  yet  it  doth 
not  follow  that  obscurity  is  as  essential  to  eloquence  as  the 
opposite  quality.  It  is  the  design  of  the  medical  art  to  give 
health  and  ease  to  the  patient,  not  pain  and  sickness ;  and 
that  the  latter  are  sometimes  the  foreseen  eflects  of  the  med- 
icines employed,  doth  not  invalidate  the  general  truth.  What- 
ever be  the  real  intention  of  a  speaker  or  writer,  whether  to 
satisfy  our  reason  of  what  is  true  or  of  what  is  untrue,  whether 
to  incline  our  will  to  what  is  right  or  to  what  is  wrong,  still 
he  must  propose  to  effect  his  design  by  informing  our  under- 
standing ;  nay,  more,  without  conveying  to  our  minds  some 
information,  he  might  as  well  attempt  to  achieve  his  purpose 
by  addressing  uS  in  an  unknown  tongue.  Generally,  tliere- 
fore,  this  quality  of  style,  perspicuity,  is  as  requisite  in  se- 
ducing to  evil  as  in  exciting  to  good ;  in  defendmg  error  as 
ill  supporting  truth. 

I  am  sensible  that  this  position  must  appear  to  many  no 
other  than  a  paradox.  What !  say  they,  is  it  not  as  natural 
to  vice  and  falsehood  to  skulk  in  darkness,  as  it  is  to  truth 
and  virtue  to  appear  in  light  ■?  Doubtless  it  is  in  some  sense, 
but  in  such  a  sense  as  is  not  in  the  least  repugnant  to  the  doc- 
trine here  advanced. .  That  therefore  we  may  be  satisfied  of 
the  justness  of  this  theory,  it  will  be  necessary  to  consider  a 
little  farther  the  nature  both  of  persuasion  and  of  conviction. 

W"ith  regard  to  the  former,  it  is  evident  that  the  principal 
scope  for  employing  persuasion  is  when  the  mind  balances, 
or  may  be  supposed  to  balance,  in  determining  what  choice 
to  make  in  respect  of  conduct,  whether  to  do  this  or  to  do  that, 
or  at  least  whether  to  do  or  to  forbear.  And  it  is  equally  ev- 
ident that  the  mind  would  never  balance  a  moment  in  choos- 
ing unless  there  were  motives  to  influence  it  on  each  of  the 
opposite  sides.  In  favour  of  one  side,  perhaps,  is  the.love  of 
glory,  in  favour  of  the  other  the  love  of  life.  Now,  wliich 
ever  side  the  orator  espouses,  there  are  two  things  that  must 
carefully  be  studied  by  him,  as  was  observed  on  a  f«rmei 
occasion  ;*  the  first  is,  to  excite  in  his  hearers  that  desire  oi 
passion  which  favours  his  designs  ;  the  second  is,  to  Scitisfy 
their  judgments  that  there  is  a  connexion  betv/een  tlie  coa 
duct  to  Vi'hich  he  would  persuade  them,  and  the  gratificatioi' 
of  the  desire  or  passion  vv'hich  he  excites.     The  first  is  e{ 

♦  Book  i.,  chap,  vii.,  sect.  iv.     See  the  analj-sis  of  persuasion 


THE  rHiLosoPiiv  OF  RiiriTor.ii'.  297 

fected  by  communicating  natural  an;]  lively  ideas  of  the  ob- 
ject ;  the  second  by  arjrnments  from  experience,  analogy, 
testimony,  or  the  plurality  of  chances.  To  the  communica- 
tion of  natural  and  vivid  ideas,  the  pathetic  circumstances 
formerly  enumerated*  arc  particularly  conductive.  Now  to 
the  efticacious  display  of  those  circumstances,  nothing  can 
be  more  unfriendly  than  obscurity,  whose  direct  tendenc}^  is 
to  confound  our  ideas,  or,  rather,  1o  blot  them  altogetlier  ; 
and  as  to  the  second  requisite,  the  argumentative  part,  that 
can  never  require  obscurity  which  doth  not  require  even  a 
deviation  from  truth.  It  may  be  as  true,  and,  therefore,  as 
demonstrable,  that  my  acting  in  one  way  will  promote  my 
safety,  or  what  I  regard  as  my  interest,  as  that  my  acting  in 
the  contrary  way  will  r+iise  my  fame.  And  even  when  an 
orator  is  under  a  necessity  of  replying  to  what  hath  been 
advanced  by  an  antagonist,  in  order  to  weaken  the  impres- 
sion he  hatli  made,  or  to  lull  the  passion  he  hath  roused,  it  is 
not  often  that  he  is  obliged  to  avail  himself  of  any  false  or 
sophistical  reasoning,  which  alone  can  render  obscurity  use- 
ful. Commonly,  on  the  contrary,  he  hath  only  to  avail  him- 
self of  an  artful  exhibition  of  every  circumstance  of  the  case 
that  can  in  any  way  contribute  to  invalidate  or  to  subvert  his 
adversary's  plea,  and,  consequently,  to  support  his  own.  Now 
it  is  a  certain  fact,  that  in  almost  all  complicated  cases,  real 
circumstances  will  be  found  in  favour  of  each  side  of  the 
question.  Whatever  side,  therefore,  the  orator  supports,  it  is 
his  business,  in  the  first  place,  to  select  those  circumstances 
that  arc  favourable  to  his  own  plea,  or  which  excite  the  pas- 
sion that  is  directly  instrumental  in  promoting  his  end  ;  sec- 
ondly, to  select  those  circumstances  that  are  unfavourable 
to  the  plea  of  his  antagonist,  and  to  add  to  all  these  such 
clearness  and  energy  by  his  eloquence  as  will  effectually  fix 
the  attention  of  the  hearers  upon  them,  and  thereby  withdraw 
their  regards  from  those  circumstances,  equally  real,  which 
favour  the  other  side.  In  short,  it  is  the  business  of  the  two 
antagonists  to  give  different  or  even  opposite  directions  to 
the  attention  of  the  hearers  ;  but  then  it  is  alike  the  interest 
of  each  to  set  those  particular  circumstances,  to  which  he 
would  attract  their  notice,  in  as  clear  a  light  as  possible  ;  and 
it  is  only  by  acting  thus  that  he  can  hope  to  effectuate  his 
purpose. 

Perhaps  it  will  be  urged,  that  though,  where  the  end  is 
persuasion,  there  doth  not  seem  to  be  an  absolute  necessity 
for  sophistry  and  obscurity  on  either  side,  as  there  is  not  on 
either  side  an  absolute  necessity  for  supporting  falsehood, 
the  case  is  gertainly  different  when  the  end  is  to  convince 

*  Book  i.,  chap,  vii.,  sect.  v.  The  explication  and  use  of  those  circum- 
stances. 


298  THE  PinLOsopnY  of  rhetoric. 

the  unaerstanding.  In  this  case,  whatever  is  spoken  on  one 
side  of  the  question,  as  it  is  spoken  in  support  of  error,  must 
be  sophistical  ;  and  sophistry  seems  to  require  a  portion  of 
obscurity,  to  serve  her  as  a  veil,  that  she  may  escape  dis- 
covery. Even  liere,  however,  the  case  is  not  so  plain  as  at 
first  it  may  be  thought.  Sophistry  (wliich  hatii  sometimes 
been  successfully  used  in  support  of  truth)  is  not  always  ne- 
cessary for  the  support  of  error.  Error  may  be  supported, 
and  iiath  been  often  strenuously  supported,  by  very  cogent 
arguments  and  just  reasoning. 

But  as  this  position  will  jjrobably  appear  to  many  very  ex- 
traordinary, if  not  irrational,  it  will  be  necessary  to  examine 
the  matter  more  minutely.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  in  sub- 
jects susceptible  of  demonstrative  proof,  error  cannot  be  de- 
fended but  by  sophistry  ;  and  sophistry,  to  prevent  detection, 
must  shelter  herself  in  obscurity.  This  results  from  the  na- 
ture of  scientific  evidence,  as  formerly  explained.*  This 
kind  of  evidence  is  solely  conversant  about  the  invariable  re- 
lations of  number  and  extension,  which  relations  it  evolves 
by  a  simple  chain  of  axioms.  An  assertion,  therefore,  that 
is  contrary  to  truih  in  these  matters,  is  also  absurd  and  incon- 
ceivable ;  nor  is  there  any  scope  here  for  contrariety  of 
proofs.  Accordingly,  debate  and  argumentation  have  no 
footing  here.  The  case  is  far  otherwise  with  moral  evidence, 
which  is  of  a  complex  nature,  which  admits  degrees,  which 
is  almost  always  combated  by  opposite  proofs,  and  these, 
though  perhaps  lower  in  degree,  as  truly  of  the  nature  of  proof 
and  evidence  as  those  whereby  they  are  opposed.  The  proba- 
bility, on  the  wdiole,  as  was  shown  already,!  I'^s  in  the  pro- 
portion which  the  contrary  proofs,  upon  comparison,  bear  to 
one  another ;  a  proportion  which,  in  complicated  cases,  it  is 
often  difficult,  and  sometimes  even  impossible,  to  ascertain. 
The  speakers,  therefore,  on  the  opposite  sides  have  each  real 
evidence  to  insist  on  ;  and  there  is  here  the  same  scope  as 
in  persuasory  discourses,  for  all  the  arts  that  can  both  rivet 
the  hearer's  attention  on  the  circumstances  of  the  proof  fa- 
vourable to  the  speaker's  design,  and  divert  his  attention  from 
the  contrary  circumstances.-  Nor  is  there,  in  ordinary  cases, 
that  is,  in  all  cases  really  dubious  and  disputable,  any  neces- 
sity, on  either  side,  for  what  is  properly  called  sophistry. 

The  natural  place  for  sophistry  is  when  a  speaker  finds 
himself  obliged  to  attempt  the  refutation  of  arguments  that 
are  both  clear  and  convincing.  For  an  answerer  to  overlook 
such  arguments  altogether  might  be  dangerous,  and  to  treat 
them  in  such  a  manner  as  to  elude  their  force  requires  the 
most  exquisite  address.  A  little  sophistry  here  will,  no  doubt, 
be  thought  necessary  by  one  with  whom  victory  hath  more 

♦  Book  i.,  chap,  v.,  sect.  ii.  t  Book  i.,  chap,  v.,  sect,  ii 


THE    PIIILOSOrilY    OF    niir.i\!U  ;r.  299 

clKirms  than  t«itn  ;  and  sophistry,  as  was  hinted  above,  al- 
ways implies  Dhsciirity;  for  ihal  a  sophism  should  he  mis- 
taken  ibr  an  argmnent,  can  be  imputed  only  to  this,  that  it  is 
not  rigluiy  uiiderstootl. 

As  from  what  hath  been  said  we  may  learn  to  distinguish 
the  few  cases  wherein  a  viohition  of  the  laws  of  perspicuity 
may  be  pertinent  to  the  purpose  of  the  orator,  I  shall  next  in- 
quire what  kind  of  violation  is  in  such  cases  best  fitted  for  an- 
swering his  design.  It  is  evident  it  cannot  be  the  first,  which 
for  distinction's  sake  was  denominated  by  the  general  name 
Obscuritj'.  When  a  hearer  not  only  doth  not  iiiicferstand,  but 
is  himself  sensible  that  he  doth  not  understand,  what  is  spo- 
ken, it  can  produce  no  cfl'ect  on  iiim  but  weariness,  suspicion, 
and  disgust,  which  must  be  prejudicial  to  the  intention.  Al- 
though it  is  not  alwa)'s  nec^^ssary  that  everytlung  advanced 
by  the  speaker  should  c'lvey  information  to  the  hearer,  it  is 
necessary  that  he  sb^juld  believe  himself  informed  by  what  is 
said  ere  he  can  I'C  convinced  or  persuaded  by  it.  For  the 
like  reason,  it  is  not  the  second  kind  of  transgression,  or  any 
discoverable  ambiguity  in  what  is  spoken,  that  is  adapted  to 
the  end  of  speaking.  Tliis  fault,  if  discovered,  though  not  of 
so  bad  consequence  as  the  former,  tends  to  distract  the  atten- 
tion of  the  hearer,  and  thereby  to  weaken  tlie  impression 
which  the  words  would  otherwise  have  made.  It  remains 
that  it  is  only  the  third  and  last  kind  above  discussed,  when 
what  is  said,  though  in  itself  unintelligible,  a  hearer  may  be 
led  to  imagine  tliat  he  understands.  When  ambiguities' can 
artfully  be  made  to  elude  discovery  and  to  conduce  to  this 
deception,  they  may  be  used  with  success.*  Now,  tJKJUgh 
nothing  would  seem  to  be  easier  than  this  kind  of  style  wlien 
an  author  falls  into  it  naturaiiy,  that  is,  when  he  deceives 
himself  as  well  as  his  reader,  nothing  is  more  difficult  when 
attempted  of  design.  It  is,  besides,  requisite,  if  this  manner 
must  be  continued  for  any  lime,  that  it  be  artfully  blended 
with  some  glimpses  of  meaning;  else,  to  persons  of  discern- 
ment, the  charm  will  at  last  be  dissolved,  and  the  nothing- 
ness of  what  hath  been  spoken  will  be  detected ;  nay,  even 
the  attention  of  the  unsuspecting  multitude,  when  not  reliev- 
ed by  anything  that  is  level  to  their  comprehension,  will  in- 
fallibly flag.  The  invocation  in  the  Dunciad  admirably  suits 
the  orator  who  is  unhappily  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  ta 
king  shelter  in  the  unintelligible. 

"  Of  darkness  visible  so  much  be  lent. 
As  halt  to  show,  hall  veil  the  deep  intent." 

There  is  but  one  subject  in  nature  (if  what  is  unintelligible 

♦  That  they  arc  otlen  successful  this  way  halh  been  justly  remarked 
by  Aristotle  :  "  Tuv  i'  oia/xaTdiv,  nii  ^cv  roiiicTy]  i^uiiu/ii((t  ;^fjr/or(f/u«,  jrapn  ravTM 
yap  KOKovpyn" — Pijr.  y. 


300  THE  pHiLosopnv  OF  HRrn'onic. 

can  be  called  a  subject)  on  which  the  appetite  of  nonsense  is 
utterly  insatiable.  The  intelligent  reader  needs  not  be  in- 
formed that  I  mean  what  is  commonly  termed  mystical  the- 
ology; a  subject  whoso  supposed  sublimity  serves  with  its 
votaries  to  apologize  for  its  darkness.  That  here,  indeed, 
there  may  be  found  readers  who  can,  not  only  with  patience, 
but  with  avidity ;  not  only  through  pages,  but  through  vol-, 
umes,  lose  themselves  in  wandering  over  a  maze  of  words 
unenlightened  by  a  single  ray  of  sense,  the  translation  of 
the  works  of  Jacob  Behmen,  and  our  modern  Hutchinsonian 
performances,  are  larnentable  proofs.  But  this  case  is  par- 
ticular. 

After  all,  we  are  not  to  iwiagine  that  the  sophistical  and 
unmeaning,  when  it  may  in  some  sense  be  said  to  be  proper, 
or  even  necessary,  are,  in  respeci  of  the  ascendant  gained 
over  the  mind  of  the  hearer,  ever  capiible  of  rivalling  conclu- 
sive arguments  perspicuously  expressed.  The  effect  of  the 
former  is  at  most  only  to  donfound  the  judgii^f>nt,  and  by  the 
confusion  it  produceth,  to  silence  contradiction ;  \he  effect  of 
the  latter  is  fully  to  convince  the  understanding.  The  im- 
pression made  by  the  first  can  no  more  be  compared  ii\  dis- 
tinctness and  vivacity  to  that  effected  by  the  second,  thantliQ 
dreams  of  a  person  asleep  to  his  perceptions  when  awake. 
Hence  we  may  perceive  an  eminent  disadvantage,  which  the 
advocate  for  error,  when  compelled  to  I'ecur  to  words  with- 
out meaning,  must  labour  under.  The  weapons  he  is  obliged 
to  use  are  of  such  a  nature  that  there  is  much  greater  dif- 
ficulty in  managing  those  that  must  be  employed  in  the  cause 
of  truth ;  and  when  managed  ever  so  dexterously,  they  can- 
not do  equal  execution.  A  still  greater  disadvantage  the 
patron  of  the  cause  of  injustice  or  of  vice  must  grapple  with ; 
for  though  he  may  find  real  m.otives  to  urge  in  defence  of 
his  plea,  as  wealth,  perhaps,  or  ease,  or  pleasure,  he  hath  to 
encounter  or  elude  the  moral  sentiments  which,  of  all  motives 
whatever,  take  the  strongest  hold  of  the  heart ;  and  if  he  finds 
himself  under  a  necessity  of  attempting  to  prove  that  virtue 
and  right  are  on  his  side,  he  hath  his  way  to  grope  through 
a  labyrinth  of  sophistry  and  nonsense. 

So  much  for  the  legitimate  use  of  the  unintelligible  in  or- 
atory. 

SECTION  II. 

OBJECTIONS  ANSWERED. 

But  are  there  not  some  subjects,  and  even  some  kind  of 
composition,  which  from  their  very  nature  demand  a  dash  of 
obscurity  1  Doth  not  decency  often  require  this  1  Doth  not 
delicacy  require  this  I  And  is  this  not  even  essential  to  the  al- 
legoric style,  and  to  the  enigmatic  '     As  to  the  manner  which 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RMETORIC.  301 

uecency  sometimes  requires,  it  will  be  found,  on  examination, 
to  stand  opposed  more  properly  to  vivacity  than  to  pnrspicuity 
of  style,  and  will  therefore  fall  to  be  considered  afterward. 

I  shall  now,  therefore,  examine,  in  the  first  place,  in  what 
respect  delicacy  may  be  said  to  demand  obscurity.  Thus 
mucli,  indeed,  is  evident,  that  delicacy  often  requires  that 
certain  sentiments  be  rather  insinuated  than  expressed ;  in 
other  words,  that  they  be  not  directly  spoken,  but  that  suf- 
ficient ground  be  given  to  infer  them  from  whut  is  spoken. 
Such  sentiments  are,  though  improperly,  considered  as  ob- 
scurely expressed  for  this  special  reason,  that  it  is  not  by 
the  first  operation  of  the  intellect,  an  apprehension  of  the 
meaning  of  what  is  said,  but  by  a  second  operation,  a  reflec- 
tion on  what  is  implied  or  presupposed,  that  they  are  discov^- 
ered,  in  which  double  operation  of  the  mind  there  is  a  faint 
resemblance  to  wliat  happens  in  the  case  of  real  obscurity. 
But  in  the  case  of  which  I  am  treating,  it  is  the  thouglit  more 
than  the  expression  that  serves  for  a  veil  to  the  sentiment 
suggested.  If,  therefore,  in  such  instances  there  may  be  said 
to  be  obscurity,  it  is  an  obscurity  which  is  totally  distinct 
from  obscurity  of  language. 

That  this  matter  may  be  better  understood,  we  must  care- 
fully distinguish  between  the  thought  expressed  and  the 
thought  hinted.  The  latter  may  be  gffirmcd  to  be  obscure 
because  it  is  not  expressed,  but  hinted ;  whereas  the  former, 
with  which  alone  perspicuity  of  style  is  concerned,  must  al- 
ways be  expressed  with  clearness,  otherwise  the  sentiment 
will  never  be  considered  as  either  beautiful  or  delicate.*  I 
shall  illustrate  this  by  examples. 

No  subject  requires  to  be  treated  more  delicately  than 
praise,  especially  when  it  is  given  to  a  person  present.  Flat- 
tery is  so  nauseous  to  a  liberal  spirit,  tirat  even  when  praise 
is  merited  it  is  disagreeable,  at  least  to  unconcerned  hearers, 
if  it  appear  in  a  garb  which  adulation  commonly  assumes. 
For  ibis  reason,  an  encomium  or  compliment  never  succeeds 
so  well  as  when  it  is  indirect.  It  then  appears  to  escape  the 
speaker  unawares,  at  a  time  that  he  seems  to  have  no  inten- 
tion to  commend.  Of  this  kind  the  following  story  will  serve 
as  an  example  :  "  A  gentleman  who  had  an  employment  be- 
stowed on  him  without  so  much  as  being  known  to  his  ben- 
efactor, waited  upon  the  great  man  who  was  so  generous, 
and  was  beginning  to  say  he  was  infinitely  obliged — '  Not  at 
all,''  says  the  patron,  turning  from  him  to  another;  'had  J 

*  This  will  serve  to  explain  what  Bonhours,  a  celebrated  French  critic, 
and  a  great  advocate  for  persiiicuity,  hath  advanced  on  this  subject :  "  Sou- 
venez-vous  que  rien  n'est  plus  oppose  a  la  veritable  delicatesse  que  d'ex- 
primer  trop  les  choses,  et  que  le  gratid  art  consiste  a  ne  pas  tout  dire  sur 
certain  sujets;  a  glisser  dessus  pliitot  que  d'y  appnyer ;  et  un  mot,  a  en 
laisser  Denser  auxautres  plus  que  Ton  n'en  dil." — Mamire  de  bicn  Peiurr,  &c 
C  o 


302  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OP    RHETORIC. 

known  a  more  deserving  man  in  Englvnd,  he  should  not  have  had 
2^'"*  Here  the  apparent  intention  of  the  minister  was  only  to 
excuse  the  person  on  whom  the  favour  had  been  conferred 
the  trouble  of  making  an  aci^nowledgnient,  by  assuring  him 
that  it  had  not  been  given  from  personal  attachment  or  par- 
tiality. But  wliile  he  appears  intending  only  to  say  this,  he 
says  what  implies  the  greatest  praise,  and,  as  it  were,  acci- 
dentally betrays  the  high  opinion  he  entertained  of  the  oth- 
er's merit.  If  he  had  said  directly,  "  You  are  the  most  de- 
serving man  that  I  know  in  England,"  the  answer,  though 
implying  no  more  than  what  he  did  say,  would  have  been  not 
only  indelicate,  but  intolerable.  On  so  slight  a  turn  in  the 
expression  it  frequently  depends  whether  the  same  sentiment 
shall  appear  delicate  or  gross,  complimental  or  affronting. 

Sometimes  praise  is  very  successfully  and  very  delicately 
conveyed  under  an  appearance  ot  chagrin.  This  constitutes 
the  merit  of  that  celebrated  tliought  of  Boileau  :  "  To  imagine 
in  such  a  warlike  age,  which  abounds  in  Achilleses,  that  we 
can  write  verses  as  easily  as  they  take  towns. '"f  The  poet 
seems  only  venting  his  complaints  against  the  imreasonable 
expectations  of  some  persons,  and  at  the  same  lime  discov- 
ers, as  by  chance,  the  highest  admiration  of  his  monarch  and 
the  heroes  who  served  lum,  by  suggesting  the  incredible  ra- 
pidity of  the  success  v^ith  which  their  arms  were  crowned. 

Sometimes,  also,  commendation  will  be  couched  with  great 
delicacy  under  an  air  of  reproach.  An  example  of  this  1  shall 
give  from  the  paper  lately  quoted  :  "  '  ilfy /o?-c^,' said  the  Duke 

of  B m,  after  his  libertme   way,  to  the  Earl  of  O y, 

'you.  ivill  certainly  he  damn'd.''  '  How,  my  lordl'  said  the  earl, 
with  some  warmth.  •  Nay,''  replied  the  duke,  '  there's  no  help 
for  it ;  for  it  is  positively  said,  ''  Cursed  is  he  of  whom  all  men 
speak  well.'''' '  "j  A  still  stronger  example  in  this  way  we 
have  from  the  Drapier,  who,  speaking  to  Lord  Moiesworth  of 
the  seditious  expressions  of  which  he  had  himself  been  ac- 
cused, says,  "  1  have  witnesses  ready  to  depose  that  your 
lordship  hath  said  and  writ  fifty  times  worse,  and,  ^vhat  is 
still  an  aggravation,  with  infinitely  more  wit  and  learning, 
and  stronger  arguments  ;  so  that,  as  politics  run,  I  do  not 
know  a  person  of  more  exceptionable  principles  than  your- 
self; and  if  ever  1  shall  be  discovered,  1  think  you  will  be 
bound  in  honour  to  pay  my  fine  and  support  me  in  prison,  or 
else  I  may  chance  to  inform  against  you  by  way  of  reprisal."^ 

I  shall  produce  one  other  instance  from  the  same  hand,  of 
an  indirect  but  successful  manner  of  praising,  by  seeming  to 
invert  the  course  of  the  obligation,  and  to  represent  the  per- 

♦  Tatler,  No.  17. 

t  "  Et  dans  ce  terns  guerrier  et  fecond  pn  Acliilles 

Croit  que  Ton  fait  les  vers,  comine  I'on  prend  les  villes." 
t  Tatler,  No.  J 7.  <J  Diapier's  Let.,  * 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETOPvIC,  303 

son  obliging  as  the  person  obliged.  Swift,  in  a  letter  to  the 
Archbishop  of  Dublin,  speaking  of  Mr.  llarlcy,  then  lord-high 
treasurer,  afterward  Karl  of  Oxford,  by  whose  means  the 
Irish  clergy  had  obtained  from  tlie  queen  tlie  grant  of  the  first 
fruits  and  tenths,  says,  "  I  told  him  that,  for  my  part,  I  thought 
he  was  obliged  to  the  clergy  of  Ireland  for  giving  him  an  oc- 
casion of  gratifying  the  pleasure  he  took  in  doing  good  to  the 
Church."* 

It  may  be  observed,  that  delicacy  requires  indirectness  of 
manner  no  less  in  censure  than  in  praise.  If  the  one,  when 
open  and  direct,  is  liable  to  be  branded  with  the  name  pfjlat- 
terr/,  the  other  is  no  less  exposed  to  the  opprobricnis  appella- 
tion oi  abuse ;  both  alike,  though  in  different  ways,  offensive 
to  persons  of  tase  and  breeding.  I  shall  give,  from  the  work 
last  quoted,  a  specimen  (I  cannot  say  of  great  delicacy)  in 
stigmatizing,  but  at  least  of  such  an  indirect  manner  as  is 
sufficient  to  screen  the  author  from  the  imputation  of  down- 
right rudeness.  "  1  hear  jou  are  like  to  be  the  sole  opposer 
of  the  Bank  ;  and  you  will  certainly  miscarry,  because  it 
would  prove  a  most  perfidious  thing.  Bankrupts  are  always 
for  setting  up  banks  ;  how,  then,  can  you  think  a  bank  will 
fail  of  a  majority  in  both  houses  ]"t  It  nnisl  be  owned  that 
the  veil  here  is  extremely  thin,  too  thin  to  be  atlogether  de- 
cent, and  serves  only  to  save  from  the  imputation  of  scurril- 
ity a  very  severe  reproach.  It  is  the  manner  which  consti- 
tutes one  principal  distinction  between  the  libeller  and  the 
satirist.  I  shall  give  one  instance  more  of  this  kind  from 
another  work  of  the  same  author.  "  To  smooth  the  way  for 
the  return  of  popery  in  Queen  Mary's  time,  the  grantees  were 
confirmed  by  the  pope  in  the  possession  of  the  abbey-lands. 
But  the  bishop  tells  us  that  this  confirmation  was  fraudulent 
and  invalid.  I  shall  believe  it  to  be  so,  although  I  happen  to 
read  it  in  his  lordship's  history. "i  Thus  he  insinuates,  or  sig- 
nifies by  implication,  that  his  lordship's  history  is  full  of  lies. 
Now,  from  all  the  specimens  I  have  exhibited,  it  will,  I  sup- 
pose, sufficiently  appear  to  any  person  of  common  understand- 
ing, that  the  obscurity  required  by  delicacy,  either  in  blaming 
or  in  commending,  is  totally  distinct  in  kind  fnnn  obsctirity 
of  expression,  with  which  none  of  the  examples  above  quoted 
is  in  the  smallest  degree  chargeable. 

The  illustrations  I  have  given  on  this  topic  will  contril)utc 
in  some  measure  to  explain  the  obscurity  that  is  requisite 
in  allegories,  apologues,  parables,  and  enigmas.  In  all  these 
sorts  of  composition  there  are  two  .senses  plainly  intended, 
the  literal  and  the  figurative  :  the  language  is  solely  the  sign 

♦  Swift's  Letters,  10.  +  Swift's  Letter.  40. 

X  Preface  to  the  Bishop  of  Sarum's  Introduction  to  the  3d  volume  ol  lii« 
History  of  tlie  Reformation. 


304  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETOUIC. 

of  the  literal  sense,  and  the  literal  sense  is  the  sign  of  the 
figurative.  Perspicuity  in  the  style,  which  exhibits  only  the 
literal  sense,  is  so  far  from  being  to  be  dispensed  with  here, 
that  it  is  even  more  requisite  in  this  kind  of  composition  than 
in  any  other.  Accordingly,  you  will,  perhaps,  nowhere  find 
more  perfect  models  both  of  simplicity  and  of  perspicuity  of 
style  than  in  the  parables  of  the  Gospel.  Indeed,  in  every 
sort  of  composition  of  a  figurative  character,  more  attention 
is  always  and  justly  considered  as  due  to  this  circumstance 
than  in  any  other  sort  of  writing.  iSsop's  fables  are  a  noted 
example  of  this  remark.  In  farther  confirmation  of  it,  we 
may  observe,  that  no  pieces  are  commonly  translated  with 
greater  ease  and  exactness  than  the  allegorical,  and  that  even 
by  those  who  apprehend  nothing  of  the  mystical  sense.  This 
surely  could  never  be  the  case  if  the  obscurity  were  charge- 
able on  the  language. 

The  same  thing  holds  here  as  in  painting  emblems  or  gra- 
ving devices.  It  ma}%  witliout  any  fault  in  the  painter  or  en- 
graver, puzzle  5'ou  to  discover  what  the  visible  figure  of  the 
sun  for  example,  which  you  observe  in  the  emblem  or  the 
device,  was  intended  to  signify ;  but  if  you  are  at  a  loss  to 
know  whether  it  be  the  figure  of  the  sun  or  the  figure  of  the 
moon  that  you  are  looking  at,  he  must  have  undoubtedly  been 
a  bungling  artist.  The  body,  therefore,  if  I  may  so  express 
myself,  of  the  emblem  or  of  the  device,  and  precisely  for  the 
same  reason,  of  the  riddle  or  of  the  allegory,  must  be  dis- 
tinctly exhibited,  so  as  scarcely  to  leave  room  for  a  possibil- 
ity of  mistake.  The  exercise  that  in  any  of  these  perform- 
ances is  given  to  ingenuity,  ought  wholly  to  consist  in  read- 
ing the  soul. 

I  know  no  style  to  which  darkness  of  a  certain  sort  is  more 
suited  than  to  the  prophetical.  Many  reasons  might  be  as- 
signed which  render  it  improper  that  prophecy  should  be  per- 
fectly understood  be-  it  be  accomplished.  Besides,  we 
are  certain  that  a  preUii...  n  may  be  very  dark  before  the  ac- 
complishment, and  yet  so  piain  afterward  as  scarcely  to  ad- 
mit a  doubt  in  regard  to  the  events  suggested.  It  does  not 
belong  to  critics  to  give  laws  to  prophets,  nor  does  it  fall 
within  the  confines  of  any  human  art  to  lay  down  rules  for  a 
species  of  composition  so  far  above  art.  Thus  far,  however, 
we  may  warrantably  observe,  that  when  the  prophetic  style 
is  imitated  in  poetry,  the  piece  ought,  as  much  as  possible,  to 
possess  the  character  above  mentioned.  This  character,  in 
my  opinion,  is  possessed  in  a  very  eminent  degree  by  Mr. 
Gray's  ode  called  The  Bard.  It  is  all  darkness  to  one  who 
kiiows  nothing  of  the  English  history  posterior  to  the  reign 
of  Edward  the  First,  and  all  light  to  one  who  is  well  acquaint- 
ed with  that  history.  But  this  is  a  kind  of  writing  whose  pe- 
culiarities can  scarcely  be  considered  as  exceptions  from  or- 
dinary rules. 


TiiR  rniT.osoriiv  of  rjiETOurc.  y05 

But,  farther,  may  not  a  little  obscurity  be  sometimes  very 
suitable  in  dramatic  composition  1  Sometimes,  indeed,  but 
rery  seldom ;  else  the  purpose  of  flie  cxhibitiou  would  be 
lost.  The  drama  is  a  sort  of  moral  painting,  and  characters 
must  be  painted  as  they  are.  A  blunderer  cannot  properly  be 
introduced  conversing  with  all  the  perspicuity  and  precision 
of  a  critic,  no  niore  than  a  clown  can  be  justly  represented 
expressing  liimself  in  the  polished  style  of  a  courtier.  In 
like  manner,  when  the  jaiind  is  in  confusion  and  perplexitj', 
arising  from  the  sudden  conflict  of  violent  passions,  the  lan- 
guage will  of  necessity  partake  of  the  perturbation.  Inco- 
lierent  hints,  precipitate  sallies,  vehement  exclamations,  in- 
terrupted, perhaps,  by  feeble  chocks  from  religion  or  philoso- 
phy— in  short,  everything  imperfect,  abrupt,  am  desultory, 
are  the  natural  expressions  of  a  soul  overwhelm*  J  in  such  a 
tumult.  But  even  here  it  may  be  said  with  truth,  that  to  one 
skilled  in  reading  Nature  there  will  arise  a  light  out  of  the 
darkness,  which  will  enable  him  to  penetrate  farther  into  the 
spirit  than  he  could  have  done  by  the  help  of  the  most  just, 
most  perspicuous,  and  most  elaborate  description.  This 
might  be  illustrated,  were  it  necessary  ;  but  a  case  so  singu- 
lar is  hardly  called  an  exception.  The  dramatist,  then,  can 
but  rarely  claim  to  be  indulged  in  obscurity  of  language,  tho 
fabulist  never 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MAY    THERE    NOT    BE    AN    EXCESS    OF    PERSPICUITY  1 

I  SHALL  conclude  this  subject  with  inquiring  whether  it  be 
possible  that  perspicuity  should  be  carried  to  excess.  It 
hath  been  said  that  too  much  of  it  has  a  tendency  to  cloy  the 
reader,  and,  as  it  gives  no  play  to  the  rational  and  active 
powers  of  the  mind,  will  soon  grow  irksome  through  excess 
of  facility.  In  this  manner  some  able  critics  have  expressed 
themselves  on  this  point,  who  will  be  found  not  to  differ  in 
sentiment,  but  only  in  expression,  from  the  principles  above 
laid  down. 

The  objection  ariseth  manifestly  from  the  confounding  ol 
two  objects,  the  common  and  the  clear,  and  thence  very  natu- 
rally their  contraries,  the  new  and  the  dark,  that  are  widely 
different.  If  you  entertain  your  reader  solely  or  chieily  willi 
thougiits  that  are  either  trite  or  obvious,  yon  cannot  fail  soon 
to  tire  him.  You  introduce  few  or  no  new  sentiments  into 
his  mind,  5^ou  give  him  little  or  no  information,  and,  consi;- 
quently,  afford  neither  exercise  to  his  reason  nor  entertaiu- 
C  ca 


306  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

ment  to  his  fancy.  In  what  we  read  and  what  we  hear,  we 
always  seek  for  somethinop  in  one  respect  or  other  new.  which 
we  did  not  know,  or,  nt  least,  attend  to  before.  The  less 
we  find  of  this,  the  sooner  we  are  tired.  Such  a  trilhng  mi- 
nuteness, therefore,  in  narration,  description,  or  argument,  as 
an  ordinary  apprehension  would  render  superfluous,  is  apt 
quickvy  to  disgust  us.  The  reason  is,  not  because  anything 
is  said  too  perspicuously,  but  because  many  things  are  said 
which  ought  not  to  be  said  at  all.  ^";iy,  if  those  very  things 
had  been  expressed  obscurely  (and  the  most  obvious  things 
may  be  expressed  obscurely),  the  <fault  would  have  been 
much  greater,  because  it  would  have  required  a  good  deal  of 
attention  to  discover  what,  after  we  had  discovered  it,  we 
should  perceive  not  to  be  of  sufficient  value  for  requiting  our 
pains.  To  an  author  of  this  kind  we  should  be  apt  to  apply 
the  character  which  Bassanio  in  the  play  gives  of  Gratiano's 
conversation  :  "  He  speaks  an  infinite  deal  of  nothing.  His 
reasons  are  as  two  grains  of  wheal  hid  in  two  bushels  of 
chaff;  you  shall  seek  all  day  ere  you  find  them,  and  when 
you  have  them  they  are  not  worth  the  search.'"*  It  is  there- 
fore futility  in  the  thought,  and  not  perspicuity  in  the  lan- 
guage, which  is  the  fault  of  such  performances.  There  is  as 
little  hazard  that  a  piece  shall  be  faulty  in  this  respect,  as 
that  a  mirror  shall  be  too  faithful  in  reflecting  the  images  o 
objects,  ol"  that  the  glasses  of  a  telescope  shall  be  too  trans- 
parent. 

At  the  same  time,  it  is  not  to  be  dissembled  that,  with  in- 
attentive readers,  a  pretty  numerous  class,  darkness  frequent- 
ly passes  for  depth.  To  be  perspicuous,  on  the  contrary,  and 
to  be  superficial,  are  regarded  by  them  as  synonymous.  But 
it  is  not  surely  to  their  absurd  notions  that  our  language 
ought  to  be  adapted. 

It  is  proper,  iiowever,  before  I  dismiss  this  subject,  to  ob- 
serve, that  ever}-  kind  of  style  doth  not  admit  an  equal  degree 
of  perspicuit5^  In  the  ode,  for  instance,  it  is  difficult,  some- 
times perhaps  impossible,  to  reconcile  the  utmost  perspicuity 
with  that  force  and  vivacity  which  the  species  of  composi- 
tion requires.  But  even  in  this  case,  though  we  may  justly 
say  that  the  genius  of  the  performance  renders  obscurity  to 
a  certain  degree  excusable,  nothing  can  ever  constitute  it  an 
excellence.  Nay,  it  may  still  be  affirmed  with  truth,  that  the 
more  a  writer  can  reconcile  this  quality  of  perspicuity  with 
that  which  is  the  distinguishing  excellence  of  the  species  of 
composition,  his  success  will  be  the  greater. 

*  Shakspeare's  Merchant  of  Venice. 


THE   PHILOSOPHY   OP    RHETORIC.  307 


4 


BOOK   III. 

THE    nSCRLMINATING   PROPERTIES    OF    ELOCUTION. 

CHAPTER  I. 

OF   VIVACITY    AS    DEPENDING    ON    THE    CHOICE    OF    WORDS. 

Having  discussed  the  subject  of  perspicuity,  by  which  the 
discourse  is  fitted  to  inform  the  uiulerstruiding,  I  come  now 
to  those  qualities  of  style  by  which  it  is  adapted  to  please  the 
imagination,  and,  consequently,  to  awaken  and  fix  tlie  atten- 
tion. These  I  liave  already  denominated  vivacity  and  ele- 
gance, which  correspond  to  the  two  sources  whence,  as  was 
observed  in  the  beginning  of  this  inquiry,*  the  merit  of  an  ad- 
dress to  the  fancy  immediately  results.  By  vivacity  of  ex- 
pression, resemblance  is  attained,  as  far  as  language  can  con- 
tribute to  the  attainment ;  by  elegance,  dignity  of  manner. 

I  begin  with  vivacity,  whose  nature  (though  perhaps  the 
word  is  rarely  used  in  a  signification  so  extensive)  will  be  best 
understood  by  considering  the  several  principles  from  which 
it  arises.  There  are  three  things  in  a  style  on  which  its  vi- 
vacity depends,  the  choice  of  words,  their  number,  and  their 
arrangement. 

The  first  thing,  then,  that  comes  to  be  examined  is  the 
words  chosen.  Words  are  either  proper  terms  or  rhetorical 
tropes ;  and  whether  the  one  or  the  other,  they  may  be  re- 
garded not  only  as  signs,  but  as  sounds ;  and,  consequently, 
as  capable,  in  certain  cases,  of  bearing  in  some  degree  a  nat- 
ural resemblance  or  afiinity  to  the  things  signified.  These 
three  articles,  therefore,  proper  terms,  rhetorical  tropes,  and 
the  relation  which  the  sound  may  be  made  to  bear  to  the 
.«ense,  I  shall,  on  the  first  topic,  the  choice  of  words,  consider 
severally,  as  far  as  concerns  the  subject  of  vivacity. 

SECTION  I. 

PROPER     TERMS. 

I  BEGIN  with  proper  terms,  and  observe  that  the  quality  of 
?hief  importance  in  these  for  producing  the  end  proposed  is 
their  specialiti/.  Nothing  can  contrihutc?  more  to  eidiven  the 
expression  than  that  all  the  words  employed  be  as  particuhir 
and  determinate  in  their  signification  as  will  suit  with  tiic  na- 
ture and  the  scope  of  the  discourse.  The  more  general  the 
*  Book  i.,  chap.  i. 


308  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   EHETORIC. 

terms  are,  the  picture  is  the  fainter ;  the  more  special  they 
are,  it  is  the  brighter.  The  same  sentimenls  may  be  express- 
ed with  equal  justness,  and  even  perspicuity,  in  the  former 
way  as  in  the  la'ter  ;  but  as  the  colouring  will  in  that  case  be 
more  languid,  it  cannot  give  equal  pleasure  to  the  fanc}^,  and, 
by  consequence,  will  not  contribute  so  much  either  to  fix  the 
attention  or  to  impress  the  memory.  I  shall  illustrate  this 
doctrine  by  some  examples. 

In  the  song  of  Moses,  occasioned  by  the  miraculous  pas- 
sage of  the  Israelites  through  the  Red  Sea,  the  inspired  poet, 
speaking  of  the  Egyptians,  says,  "They  sank  as  lead  in  the 
mighty  waters.'"*  Make  but  a  small  alteration  on  the  expres- 
sion, and  sa)',  "  They  fell  as  metal  in  the  mighty  waters,"  and 
the  difference  in  the  elfect  will  be  quite  astonishing.  Yet  the 
sentiment  will  be  equally  just,  aiid  in  either  way  the  meaning 
of  the  author  can  hardly  be  mistaken.  Nor  is  there  another 
alteration  made  upon  the  sentence  but  that  the  terms  are  ren- 
dered more  comprehensive  or  generical.  To  this  alone,  there- 
fore, the  difference  of  the  effect  must  be  ascribed.  To  sink 
is,  as  it  were,  the  species,  as  it  implies  only  "  falling  or  mo- 
ving downward  in  a  liquid  element;"  to  fall  answers  to  the  ge- 
nus ;t  in  like  manner,  lead  is  the  species,  inclal  is  the  genus. 

"  Consider,"  says  our  Lord,  "  the  lilies  how  they  grow  :  they 
;  toil  not,  they  spin  not ;  and  yet  I  say  unto  you,  that  Solomon 
in  all  his  glory  was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  these.  If,  then, 
God  so  clothe  the  grass  which  to-day  is  in  the  field  and  to- 
morrovvr  is  cast  into  the  oven,  how  much  more  Avill  he  clothe 
youl"!  Let  us  here  adopt  a  little  of  the  tasteless  manner 
of  modern  paraphrasts,  by  the  substitution  of  more  general 
terms,  one  of  their  many  expedients  of  infrigidating,  and  let 
us  observe  the  effect  produced  by  this  change.  "  Consider 
the  flowers  how  they  gradually  increase  in  their  size  ;  they 
do  no  manner  of  work,  and  yet  I  declare  to  you  that  no  king 
whatever,  in  his  most  splendid  habit,  is  dressed  up  like  them. 
If,  then,  God  in  his  providence  doth  so  adorn  the  vegetable 
productions  which  continue  but  a  little  time  on  the  land,  and 
i  are  afterward  put  into  the  fire,  how  much  more  will  he  pro- 
/  vide  clothing  for  youV  How  spiritless  is  the  same  senti- 
ment rendered  by  these  small  variations  !     The  very  partic- 

•«  Exod.,  XV.,  10. 

t  I  am  sensible  that  genus  and  species  are  not  usually,  and  perhaps  can- 
not be  so  properly,  applied  to  verbs  ;  yet  there  is  in  the  reference  which  the 
meanings  of  two  verbs  soinelimes  bear  to  each  other  what  nearly  resem- 
bles this  relation.  Jt  is  only  when  to  fall  means  to  move  downward,  as  a 
brick  from  a  chim.ney-top  or  a  pear  from  the  tree,  that  It  may  he  denomina- 
ted a  genus  in  respect  of  the  verb  to  xink.  Som.eiimes,  indeed,  the  former 
denotes  merely  a  sudden  change  of  posture  from  erect  to  prostrate,  as  when 
a  man  who  stands  upon  the  ground  is  said  to  fall,  though  he  remain  still  on 
the  ground.  In  this  way  we  speak  of  the  fall  of  a  tower,  of  a  house,  or  of 
a  wall.  t  Luke,  xii.,  27  and  28. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OP    RHETORIC  309 

ularizing  of  io-day  and  to-morrow  is  infinitely  more  expres- 
sive of  transitorincss  than  any  descriplion  wlicrcia  the  terms 
are  general  lliat  can  be  subsMintcc]  in  iis  room. 

Yet  to  a  cold  annoiator,  a  man  of  mere  intellection  with- 
out fancy,  the  latter  exhibition  of  tlie  sentiment  would  ap- 
pear the  more  emphatieal  of  the  two.  Nor  would  he  want 
some  show  of  reason  for  this  preference.  As  a  specimen, 
therefore,  of  a  certain  mode  oj"  criticising,  not  rarely  to  be 
met  with,  in  which  there  is  I  know  not  what  semblance  of 
judgment  without  one  particle  of  taste,  I  siiall  suppose  a 
critic  of  this  stamp  entering  on  the  comparison  of  the  prece- 
ding quotation  and  the  paraphrase.  '•  In  the  one,"  he  would  <' 
argue,  "  the  beauty  of  only  one  sort  of  flowers  is  exalted 
above  the  effects  of  human  industry,  in  the  other  the  beauty^  ( 
of  the  whole  kind.  In  the  former,  one  individual  monarch  is 
said  not  to  have  equalled  them  in  splendour,  in  the  latter  it  is 
affirmed  tliat  no  monarch  whatever  can  equal  them."  How- 
ever specious  this  way  of  reasoning  may  be,  we  are  certain 
i\\n.i  it  is  not  solid,  because  it  doth  not  correspond  with  tho 
principles  of  our  nature.  Indeed,  what  was  explained  above* 
in  regard  to  abstraction,  and  tlie  particularity  of  our  ideas, 
properly  so  called,  may  serve,  in  a  great  measure,  to  account 
for  tlie  effect  which  speciality  hath  upon  the  imagination. 
Philosophy,  which,  sti-ictly  considi-red,  addresselh  only  the 
understanding,  and  is  conversant  about  abstract  truth,  abounds 
in  general  terms,  because  these  alone  are  adequate  to  the 
subject  treated.  On  the  contrary,  when  the  address  is  made 
by  eloquence  to  the  fancy,  which  requires  a  lively  exhibition 
of  the  object  presented  to  it,  those  terms  must  be  culled  that 
are  as  particular  as  possible,  because  it  is  solely  by  these  that 
the  object  can  be  depicted.  And  even  the  most  rigid  philos- 
opher, if  he  choose  that  his  disquisitioi>s  be  not  oylj''  under- 
stood, but  relished  (and  without  being  relished  they  arc  un- 
derstood to  little  purpose),  will  not  disdain  sometimes  to  ap- 
ply to  tho  imagination  of  his  disciples,  mixing  the  pleasant 
with  the  useful.    This  is  one  way  of  sacrificing  to  the  Graces. ' 

But  I  proceed  to  give  examples  in  such  of  the  different 
parts  of  speech  as  are  most  susceptible  of  this  beauty.  The 
first  shall  be  in  the  verbs. 

"  It  seem'd  as  there  the  British  Neptune  sto(;d, 
VViih  all  his  hosts  of  waters  al  command  ; 
Beneath  them  to  submit  th'  oflicious  flood  ; 
And  with  his  trident  shoved  them  off  the  sand."t 

The  w^ords  snhmit  and  shove  J  are  particularly  expressive  of 
the  action  here  ;iscribed  to  Neptune.  The  ibrmer  of  these 
verbs,  sniiint,  may  indeed  be  called  a  Lnlinism  i)i  tiie  signifi- 
cation it  hath  in  this  passage.     But  such  idioms,  though  ira- 

*  Book  ii.,  chap,  vii.,  sRCt.  i.  t  Dryden's  Year  of  Wonders 


310  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

proper  in  prose,  are  sometimes  not  ungraceful  in  the  poetic 
dialect.  If,  in  the  last  line,  instead  of  shoved,  the  poet  had 
used  the  verb  raised,  which,  though  not  equivalent,  would 
have  conveyed  much  the  same  meaning,  the  expression  had 
been  fainter.*  The  next  example  shall  be  in  adjectives  and 
participles. 

"  The  kiss  snatch'd  hasty  from  the  sidelong  maid, 

*  Uti  purpose  guardless."t 

Here  both  the  words  sidelong  and  snatcWd  are  very  significant, 
and  contribute  much  to  the  vivacity  of  the  expression.  Taken 
or  kCen,  substituted  for  the  latter,  would  be  much  weaker.  It 
may  be  remarked,  that  it  is  principally  in  those  parts  of  speech 
which  regard  life  and  action  that  this  species  of  energy  takes 
place. 

I  shall  give  one  in  nouns  from  Milton,  who  says  concern- 
ing Satan,  when  he  had  gotten  into  the  garden  of  Eden, 

"  Thence  up  he  flew,  and  on  the  tree  of  life 
Sat  hke  a  cormorant.''X 

If  for  cormorant  he  had  said  bird  of  prey,  which  would  have 
equally  suited  both  the  meaning  and  the  measure,  the  image 
would  still  have  been  good,  but  weaker  than  it  is  by  this 
specification. 

In  adjectives  the  same  author  hath  given  an  excellent  ex- 
ample, in  describing  the  attitude  in  which  Satan  was  discov- 
ered by  Ithuriel  and  his  company,  when  that  malign  spirit 
was  employed  in  infusing  pernicious  thoughts  into  the  mind 
of  our  first  mother. 

"  Him  there  they  found 
Squat  like  a  toad,  close  at  the  ear  of  Eve."iJ 

No  word  in  the  language  could  have  so  happily  expressed 
the  posture  as  that  which  the  poet  hath  chosen. 

It  will  Be  easy,  from  the  same  principles,  to  illustrate  a  re- 
mark of  the  Stagyrite  on  the  epithet  rosy-fingered,  which  Ho- 
mer hath  given  to  the  morning.  This,  says  the  critic,  is  bet- 
.  ter  than  if  he  had  said  purple-fingered,  and  far  better  than  if 
he  had  said  red-fingered\  Aristotle  hath  observed  the  effect 
solely  in  respect  of  beauty,  but  the  remark  holds  equally  true 
of  tliese  epithets  in  respect  of  vivacity.  This,  in  a  great 
measure,  may  be  deduced  from  what  hath  been  said  already. 
Of  all  the  above  adjectives,  the  last  is  the  most  vague  and 
general,  and  therefore  the  worst ;  the  second  is  better,  be- 
cause more  special,  purple  being  one  species  comprehended 
under  red ;  the  first  is  the  best,  because  the  i^ost  particular, 

*  In  this  instance  Dryden  hath  even  improved  on  the  original  he  imitated, 
which  is  not  often  the  case  either  of  translators  or  of  imitators.  Virgil  says 
simply,  '■'Ijevat  ipse  tridenti."  t  Thomson's  Winter. 

6  Paradise  Lost,  b.  iv.  4  Ibid. 

II  Arist.,  Rhot.,  1.  iii. :  "Ata^spti  i'  eireiv,  oi»>  poloSaKTvXoi  tjuii  naXSov  ^ 
^iviKoiaKTv)^Oi,  i;  tri  (pavXartpov  cpvQpodaKTvXoi" 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    nHETORIC.  311 

pointing  to  that  sinp:le  tint  of  purple  which  is  to  be  found  in 
the  rose.  I  acknowledge,  nt  the  same  time,  that  this  ineta- 
pliorical  epithet  iiath  an  excellence  totally  distinct  from  its 
vivacity.  This  I  denominate  its  elegance.  Theobject  whciico 
the  metaphor  is  taken  is  a  grateful  object.  It  at  once  grati- 
fies two  of  the  senses,  the  nose  by  its  fragrance,  and  the  eye 
by  its  beauty.  But  of  this  quality  I  shall  have  occasion  to 
treat  afterward. 

I  proceed  at  present  in  producing  examples  to  confirm  the 
theory  advanced  ;  and  to  show  how  much  even  an  adverb 
that  is  very  particular  in  its  signification  may  contribute  to 
vivacity,  I  shall  again  have  recourse  to  the  Paradise  Lost. 

"  Some  say  he  bid  his  angels  turn  askance 
The  poles  of  earth,  twice  ten  degrees  and  more, 
P>om  the  sun's  axle." 

If  the  poet,  instead  of  saying  askance,  had  said  aside,  which 
properly  enough  might  have  been  said,  the  expression  would 
have  lost  much  of  its  energy.  This  adv(;rb  is  of  too  general 
a  signification,  and  might  have  been  used  with  equal  pro[)ri- 
ety,  if  the  plane  of  the  ecliptic  had  been  made  perpendicular 
to  that  of  the  equator  ;  whereas  the  word  askance,  in  that  case, 
could  not  have  been  employed,  it  denoting  just  such  an  ob- 
liquity in  the  inclination  of  these  two  planes  as  actually  ob- 
tains. We  have  an  example  of  the  same  kind  in  the  descrip- 
tion which  Thomson  gives  us  of  the  sun  newly  risen. 

"  Lo !  now  apparent  all. 
Aslant  the  dew-bright  earth  and  colour'd  air, 
He  looks  in  boundless  majesty  abroad."* 

Farther,  it  will  sometimes  have  a  considerable  effect  in  en- 
livening the  imagery,  not  only  to  particularize,  but  even  to 
individuate  the  object  presented  to  the  mind.  This  conduct 
Dr.  Blair,  in  his  very  ingenious  Dissertation  on  the  Poems  of 
Ossian,  observes  to  have  been  generally  followed  by  his  fa- 
vourite bard.  His  similitudes  bring  to  our  view  the  misl  on 
the  Hill  of  Cromla,  the  storm  on  the  Sea  of  Malmnr,  and  the  reeds 
of  the  Lake  of  Lego.  The  same  vivacious  manner  is  often  to  be 
found  in  Holy  Writ,  swift  as  a  roe  or  as  a  faicn  upon  Mount 
Belher,]  ivhile  as  the  snow  in  Salmon,X  fragrant  as  the  smell  of 
Lebanon.^  And  in  the  passage  lately  quoted  from  the  Gos- 
pel, the  introduction  of  the  name  of  Solomon  hath  an  admi- 
rable effect  in  invigorating  the  sentiment,  not  only  as  it  points 
out  an  individual,  but  one  of  great  fame  in  that  country  among 
the  people  whom  our  Saviour  addressed ;  one,  besides,  who 
was  universally  esteemed  the  wisest,  the  richest,  and  the 
most  magnificent  prince  that  ever  reigned  over  Israel.  Now 
this  is  a  consideration  which  was  particularly  apposite  to  the 
design  of  the  speaker. 

*  Summer.       +  Cant.,  ii.,  17.        J  Psal.  Ixvui.,  M        (J  Hos«a,  xiv.,  Q, 


312  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

It  may,  indeed,  be  imagined,  that  this  manner  can  enhven 
the  thouglit  only  to  those  who  are  acquainted  with  the  indi- 
viduals mentioned  ;  but,  on  mature  I'eflection,  we  may  easily 
discover  this  to  be  a  mistake.  Not  only  do  we,  as  it  were, 
participate  by  sympathy  in  the  known  vivid  perceptions  of 
the  speaker  or  the  writer,  but  the  very  notion  we  form  of  an 
vidividual  thing,  known  or  unknown,  from  its  being  conceived 
as  an  individual,  or  as  one  thing,  is  of  a  more  fixed  nature 
than  that  we  form  of  a  species,  which  is  conceived  to  be  equal- 
ly applicable  to  several  things,  resembling,  indeed,  in  some 
respects,  though  unlike  in  others  ;  and  for  the  same  reason, 
the  notion  we  have  of  a  species  is  of  a  more  steady  nature 
than  that  wc  form  of  ?i  genus,  because  this  last  is  applicable 
to  a  still  greater  number  of  objects,  among  which  the  differ- 
ence is  greater  and  the  resemblance  less. 

I  mean  not,  however,  to  assert,  that  the  method  of  individ- 
uating the  object  ought  ahvays  to  be  preferred  by  the  poet  or 
the  orator.  If  it  have  its  advantages,  it  has  its  disadvanta- 
ges also,  and  must  be  used  sparingly  by  those  who  choose 
that  their  writings  should  be  more  extensively  known  than  in 
their  own  neighbourhood.  Proper  names  are  not,  in  the  same 
respect,  essential  to  the  language  as  appellatives ;  and  even 
among  the  former,  there  is  a  difference  between  the  names 
hnown  to  fame  and  the  names  of  persons  or  things  compara- 
tively obscure.  The  last  kind  of  names  will  ever  appear  as 
strangers  to  the  greater  part  of  readers,  even  to  those  who 
are  masters  of  the  language.  Sounds  to  which  the  ear  is  not 
accustomed  have  a  certain  uncouthnoss  in  them,  that  renders 
them,  when  occurring  frequently,  fatiguing  and  disagreeable  ; 
but  that,  nevertheless,  Avhen  pertinently  introduced,  when 
neither  the  ear  is  tired  by  their  frequency,  nor  the  memory 
burdened  by  their  number,  they  have  a  considerable  effect  in 
point  of  vivacity,  is  undeniable. 

This  holds  especially  when,  from  the  nature  of  the  subject, 
the  introduction  of  them  may  be  expected.  Every  one  is 
sensible,  for  instance,  that  the  most  humoi'ous  or  engaging 
story  loseth  egregiously  when  the  relater  cannot  or  will  not 
name  the  persons  concerned  ia  it.  No  doubt  the  naming  of 
them  has  the  greatest  effect  on  those  who  are  acquainted 
with  them  either  personally  or  by  character;  but  it  hath 
some  effect  even  on  those  who  never  heard  of  them  before. 
It  must  be  an  extraordinary  tale  indeed  which  we  can  bear 
for  any  time  to  hear,  if  the  narrator  proceeds  in  this  languid 
train :  "  A  certain  person,  who  shall  be  nameless,  on  a  cer- 
tain occasion,  said  so  and  so,  to  which  a  certain  other  person 
in  the  company,  who  likewise  shall  be'nameless,  made  an- 
swer." Nay,  so  dull  doth  a  narrative  commonly  appear 
wlierein  anonymous  individuals  only  are  concerned,  that  we 
choose  to  give  feigned  names  to  the  persons  rather  than  uoue 


THE   PUILOSOniY  OF  RHETORIC.  313 

«»t  all.  Nor  is  this  device  solely  necessary  for  precluding 
tlie  ambieiiify  of  the  pronouns,  and  saving  the  tediousncss 
of  circunilocntioa ;  for  where  neither  ainbit|:uily  nor  circum- 
locution would  be  the  consequence,  as  where  one  man  and 
one  woman  are  all  the  interlocutors,  tliis  expedient  is  never- 
theless of  great  utility.  Do  but  call  them  anything,  the  maa 
suppose  Thcodosius,  and  the  woman  Constantia,*  and  by  the 
iihision  wliicli  the  very  appearance  of  names,  though  we 
ksiow  them  to  be  fictitious,  operates  on  the  fancy,  we  shall 
conceive  omselves  to  be  better  acquainted  with  the  actors, 
and  enter  with  more  spirit  into  the  detail  of  their  adventures, 
than  it  will  be  possible  for  us  to  do  if  you  always  speak  of 
thorn  in  the  indefinite,  the  general,  and,  therefore,  the  un- 
affecting  style  of  tltc  genllenuin  and  the  ladi/,  or  he  and  xhe. 
This  manner,  besides,  hath  an  air  of  concealment,  and  is 
ever  reminding  us  that  they  are  f)eopl^~we~k«ow  nothing 
about. 

It  ariscth  from  the  same  principle  that  whatoa:er  tends  toj 
subject  the  things  spoken  of  to  the  notide  of  our  senses,  e^l 
pecially  of  our  eyes,  greatly  enlivens  the  exprcssio'n.  Ii^r 
this  way  the  demonstrative  pronouns  ftrc  often  of  consider- 
able use.  '•  I  have  coveted,"  says  Paul  to  the  elders  of  Ephe- 
sus,  "  no  man's  silver,  or  gold,  or  apparel ;  yea,  ye  yourselves 
know  that  these  hands  have  ministered  to  my  necessities,  and 
to  them  that  were  with  me."f  Had  he  said  "  mi/  hands,"  the 
sentence  would  have  lost  notliing  cither  in  meaning  or  in  per- 
spicuity, but  very  much  in  vivacity.  The  difference  to  hear- 
ers is  obvious,  as  the  former  expression  must  have  been  ac- 
companied with  the  emphatic  action  of  holding  up  his  hands 
to  their  view.  To  readers  it  is  equally  i-eal,  who  in  such  a 
case  instantaneously  enter  into  the  sentiments  of  hearers.  In 
like  manner,  the  English  words  yon  and  yonder  are  more  em- 
phatical,  because  more  demonstrative,  than  the  pronoun  that 
and  the  adverb  there.  The  last  two  do  not  necessarily  imply 
that  the  object  is  in  sight,  which  is  implied  in  the  first  two. 
Accordingly,  in  these  words  of  Milton, 

"  For  proof  look  up, 
And  read  thy  fate  in  yon  celestial  sign,"t 

the  expression  is  more  vivid  than  if  it  had  been  "  that  celes- 
tial sign."    "  Sit  ye  here,"  saith  our  Lord,  "  while  I  go  and 

♦  The  choice,  however,  is  not  quite  arbitrarj'  even  in  fictitious  names. 
It  is  always  injudicious  to  employ  a  name  which,  I'rom  its  customary  appU- 
cation,  may  introduce  an  idea  unsuitable  to  the  tnaracter  it  is  affixed  to. 
Tins  error  I  think  Lord  Bohngbrokc?  chargeable  with,  in  assignin;?lhe  name 
Damoii  to  his  philosophical  antagonist  (Let.  to  M.  de  Pouilly).  'I'hough  we 
read  of  a  Pytliagoreau  philosopher  so  called,  yet  in  this  coutitry  we  are  so 
much  accustomed  to  niaot  with  this  name  in  pastorals  and  amorous  songs, 
that  it  IS  i^nposjible  not  to  associate  with  iL  the  notion  of  some  plaintive 
shepherd  or  lovesick  swain. 

t  Ads.  XX.,  33,  31.  1  Paradise  Lost. 

Dd 


314  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

pray  y«n</e?."*  The  adverb  there  would  not  have  been  near 
so  expressive. t  Though  we  cannot  say  properly  that  pro- 
nouns or  adverbs,  either  of  phice  or  of  time,  are  susceptible  of 
genera  and  species,  yet  we  can  say  (which  amounts  to  iha 
same  as  to  the  effect)  that  some  are  more  and  some  less  lim- 
ited ill  signification. 

To  the  ai)ove  remarks  and  examples  on  the  subject  of 
speciality,  I  shall  only  add,  that  in  composition,  particularly 
of  the  descriptive  kind,  it  invariably  succeeds  best  for  bright- 
ening the  imaoe  to  advance  from  general  expressions  to  more 
special,  and  thence,  again,  to  more  particular.  This,  in  the 
language  of  philosophy,  is  descending.  We  descend  to  par- 
ticulars ;  but  in  the  language  of  oratory  it  is  ascending.  A 
very  beautiful  climax  will  sometimes  be  constituted  in  this 
manner,  the  reverse  will  ofte.i  have  all  the  effect  of  an  anti- 
climax. For  an  example  of  this  order  in  description,  take 
the  following  passage  from  the  Song  of  Solomon  :  "  My  be- 
loved spake  and  said  to  me,  Arise,  my  love,  my  fair,  and 
come  away  ;  for  lo,  the  winter  is  past,  the  rain  is  over  and 
gone,  the  ilowers  appear  on  the  earth,  the  time  of  the  sing- 
ing of  birds  is  come,  and  the  v(»ice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  m 
our  land,  the  fig-tree  pulteth  forth  her  green  figs,  and  tlie 
vines  with  the  tender  grape  perfume  tiie  air.  Arise,  my 
love,  my  fair,  and  come  away."|  The  poet  here,  with  admi- 
rable address,  begins  with  mere  negatives,  observing  the  ab- 
sence of  every  evil  which  might  discourage  his  bride  from 
liearkening  to  his  importunate  request;  then  he  proceeds  by 
a  fine  gradation  to  paint  the  mo.st  inviting  circuuistances  that 
couii  serve  to  ensure  the  compliance  of  the  fair.  The  first 
expression  is  the  most  general :  "  The  winter  is  past.''  The 
next  is  more  special,  pointing  to  one  considerable  and  very 
disagreeable  attendant  upon  winter,  lite  rain.  "The  rain  is 
over  and  gone."  Thence  he  advanceth  to  the  positive  indi- 
cations of  the  spring,  as  appearing  in  the  effects  produced 
upon  the  plants  which  clothe  the  fields,  and  on  the  winged 
inhabitants  of  the  grove.  ■'  'I'he  flowers  appear  on  the  earth, 
and  the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  is  come."  But  as  though 
this  were  still  too  general,  from  mentioning  birds  and  plants, 
he  proceeds  to  specify  the  liirlle.  perhaps  considered  as  the 
emblem  of  love  and  constancy;  ih^  fig- tree  and  the  vine,  as 
the  earnest  of  friendship  and  festive  joy,  selecting  that  par- 
ticular with  regard  to  each  which  most  strongly  marks  the 
presence  of  the  all-reviving  spring.     "  The  voice  of  the  turtle 

*  Matt...  xxvr.,  3G. 

t  Le  Clerc  ihn.s  rrnders  the  origiml  into  French:  "  Asspyez-voiis  ici, 
pendant  que  je  in'sn  irai  prier  /a."  kl  .ne  same  tinie,  setisihle  how  weakly 
the  meaning  is  e.xpresseil  l)y  the  adverb  la,  lie  subjoins  in  a  note,  '  Dans  un 
lieu  qu'ii  leur  montroildu  doigt."  Tlie  i^nglish  version  needs  no  such  sup- 
plement, t  Chap.,  ii.,  10,  11,  12,  13. 


THE  rniLosoniY  of  RiiF.Tonic.  315 

is  heard  in  onr  hind,  the  fig-wee  puttctli  forih  hor  green  fii^s, 
ami  llie  viiu-s  wiili  llie  tciider  jrr;ipo  lU'iruiiin  the  air."  'llie 
|)ass;ige  is  not  iiioih;  remaikiihJe  lor  ilje  llvclnles^s  lliaii  lur 
the  elofrance  of  the  picture  it  exliiliils.  'I'lic  t-xuDiplcs  are 
all  taken  from  uiiutever  can  coniribiile  to  re^Mle  lit  scu-sey 
and  a\val<eii  love ;  yet,  reverse  the  order,  and  the  beauty  is 
almost  totally  effaced. 

So  much  lor  that  quality  in  proper  terms  whiclt  confer;*  vi- 
vacity on  the  cxpres.sion. 

SECTION  ir. 

nHETOiUCAL    XnOPES. 

Part  I.   Preliminary  Observations  concerning  Tropes. 

I  COME  now  to  inquire  how  far  the  judicious  use  of  tropes 
is  also  conducive  to  the  same  end.  It  hatli  been  common 
with  rhetoricians  to  rank  under  the  article  of  diction  not  only 
all  the  tropes,  but  even  the  greater  part  of  the  figures  of  elo- 
quence, which  they  have  uiiiforinly  considered  as  qualities 
or  ornaments  merely  of  elocution,  and  therefore  as  what 
ought  to  be  explained  among  the  properties  of  style.  It  is, 
however,  certain,  that  some  of  them  have  a  closer  connexion 
with  the  thought  than  with  the  expression,  and,  by  const;- 
quence,  fall  not  so  natundly  to  be  considered  here.  Thus  all 
the  kinds  of  comparison,  as  they  imply  a  likenoss  in  the 
things  and  not  in  the  symhols,  belong  properly  to  the  thought. 
Nay,  some  comparisons,  as  was  remarked  above,*  are  not 
mere  illustrations  of  a  particular  sentiment,  but  are  also  ar- 
guments from  analogy  in  support  of  it ;  and  if  thus  compari- 
son holds  more  directly  of  thought  than  of  language,  the  Srime 
may  doubtless  by  said  of  all  those  other  figures  wliich,  I  have 
already  observed,  are  but  different  modes  of  exhibiting  a  com- 
parison. 

It  must  be  owned,  however,  that  metaphor,  though  no  other 
in  effect  than  comparison  in  epitome,  hath  at  least  as  inti- 
mate a  connexion  with  the  style  as  with  the  sentiment,  and 
may  therefore  be  considered  under  either  head.  That  we 
may  perceive  the  reason  of  this  peculiarity,  let  it  be  ob- 
served that  there  is  a  particular  boldness  in  metaphor,  whitli 
is  not  to  be  found  in  tTiesaiTie  degree  in  any  of  tiie  figures  ol 
rhetoric.  Without  anything  like  an  explicit  comparison,  and 
commonly  without  any  warning  or  apology,  tjie  name  of  one  ' 
thing  is  obtruded  upon  us  for  the  name  of  another  quite  dif- 
ferent, though  resembling  in  some  quality.  The  consr'quemie 
of  this  is,  that  as  there  is  always  in  tins  trope  an  apparent,  at 
least,  if  It  ciumot  be  called  a  real,  impropriety,  and  sonic  de- 

♦  Book  i ,  chap,  vii.,  sec'.,  ii.    On  Engaging  Attention. 


316  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

gree  of  obscurity,  a  new  metaphor  is  rarely  to  be  risked; 
and  as  to  ordinary  metaphors,  or  those  wliich  have  already 
received  the  piibhc  sanction,  and  which  are  commonly  very 
numerous  in  every  tongue,  the  metaphorical  meaning  comes 
to  be  as  really  ascertamed  by  custom  in  the  particular  lan- 
guage as  the  original,  or  what  is  called  the  literal  meaning  of 
the  word ;  and  in  this  respect  metaphors  stand  ou  the  same 
foot  of  general  use  with  proper  terms. 

What  hath  now  been  observed  concerning  metaphor  may 
with  very  little  variation  be  affirmed  of  these  three  othei 
tropes,  synecdoche,  metonymy,  and  antonomasia.  These  are 
near  akin  to  the  former,  as  they  also  imply  tiie  substitution 
of  one  word  for  another,  when  the  things  signified  are  re- 
lated. The  only  difference  among  them  is,  that  they  respect 
different  relations.  In  metaphor  the  sole  relation  is  resem- 
blance :  in  synecdoche,  it  is  that  whicli  subsisteth  between  tlie 
species  and  the  genus,  between  the  part  and  the  whole,  and 
between  the  matter  and  the  thing  made  from  it;  in  metonymy, 
which  is  the  most  various  of  the  tropes,  the  relation  is  nev- 
erilieless  always  reducible  to  one  or  other  of  these  three 
causes,  effects,  or  adjuncts  :  in  antonomasia,  it  is  merely  that 
of  the  individual  to  the  species,  or  conversely..  There  is  one 
trope,  irony,  in  which  the  relation  is  contrariet}^  But  of  this 
I  shall  have  occasion  to  speak  when  1  come  to  consider  that 
quahty  of  style  which  hath  been  named  animation. 

On  a  little  attention,  it  will  be  found  to  be  a  plain  conse- 
quence of  what  hath  been  observed  above,  that  thougli  any 
simile,  allegory,  or  prosopopeia  is  capable  of  being  translated 
(and  that  even  without  losing  any  of  its  energy)  from  one 
tongue  into  another,  a  metaphor,  a  synecdoche,  or  a  meton- 
3'my  (for  this  holds  more  rarely  of  antonomasia),  which  is 
both  significant  and  perspicuous  in  an  original  performance, 
is  frequently  incapable  of  being  rendered  otherwise  than  by 
a  proper  word.  The  corresponding  metaphor,  synecdoche, 
or  metonymy  in  another  language  will  often  be  justly  charge- 
able with  obscurity  and  impropriety,  perhaps  even  with  ab- 
surdity. In  support  of  this  remark,  let  it  be  observed,  that 
the  nOun  sail  in  our  tongue  is  frequently  used,  and  by  the 
same  trope  that  the  noun  puppis  is  in  Latin,  to  denote  a  ship. 
Let  these  synecdoches  of  a  part  for  the  whole,  which  are  so 
very  similar,  be  translated  and  transposed,  and  you  will  im- 
mediately perceive  that  a  man  could  not  be  said  to  speak 
,  Latin  who  in  that  language  should  call  a  shrp  velum,  nor 
would  yon  think  that  he  spoke  better  English  who  in  our  lan- 
guage should  call  it  a  poop*     These  tropes,  therefore,  are  of 

*  This  doctrine  might  be  illustraled  by  ininiinerable  examples,  if  it  were 
necessary.  For  an  instance,  take  thai  expression  of  Cicero  (Pro  Legario), 
"  Cujus  iatus  ille  mucro  petebat  ?"  Here  we  have  a  synecdoche  in  the 
word  mucro,  and  a  metaphor  in  the  word  petebat,  neither  of  which  can  be 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OP    RIIETORtC.  317 

a  mixed  nature.  At  the  same  time  that  they  bear  a  refemicc 
*o  I  he  primitive  sigiiificalioii,  they  derive  IVoiii  their  custom- 
ary application  to  llie  figurative  sense,  tliat  is,  in  other  words, 
from  the  use  of  language,  somewhat  of  tiie  nature  of  proper 
terms. 

In  farther  confirmation  of  this  truth,  it  may  be  remarked, 
that  of  two  words,  even  in  tiie  same  languajje,  which  are 
synonymous,  or  nearly  so,  one  will  be  used  figuratively  to 
denote  an  object  which  it  would  be  unsuflerabic  to  employ 
the  other  to  denote,  though  naturally  as  fit  for  suggesting 
it.  It  hath  been  said  that  '•  an  excelient  rein  of  satire  runs 
through  the  whole  of  Gulliver's  Travels."  Substitute  here 
arleri/  in  the  room  o(  vein,  and  you  will  render  the  sentence 
absolutely  ridiculous.  The  two  words  beast  and  hrulc  are 
often  metaphorically  applied  to  lunnan  creatures,  but  not  in 
tlie  same  signification.  The  former  denotes  either  a  d/oc/c- 
head  or  a  vohiplnary  of  the  grossest  kind  ;  the  latter,  one  in 
the  higliest  degree  unnianncrbj  and  ferocious.  Accordingly, 
we  speak  of  beaxtly  ignorance  ;  we  say  •'Gluttony  is  a  hcasih/ 
vice  ;"  but  we  should  say,  "  Ilis  behaviour  to  those  unlia|)py 
people  was  quite  6rH/a/."  The  word  brutish,  however,  though 
derived  from  the  same  root,  is  employed,  like  beastly,  to  de- 
note stupid  or  ignorant.  Thus  to  say  of  au}^  man  "  he  acted 
brutishly,"'  and  to  say  "he  acted  brutally,"  are  two  very  dif- 
ferent things.  The  first  implies  he  acted  stupidly  ;  the  sec- 
ond, he  acted  cruelly  and  rudely.  If  we  recur  to  the  nature 
of  the  things  themselves,  it  will  be  impossible  to  assign  a 
satisfactory  reason  for  these  differences  of  application.  Tiie 
usage  of  the  language  is,  therefore,  the  only  reason. 

It  is  very  remarkable  tliat  the  usages  in  difTerent  languages 
are  in  this  respect  not  only  diflerent,  but  even  sometimes 
contrary,  insonmch  that  the  same  trope  will  suggest  oppo- 
site ideas  in  different  tongues.  No  sort  of  metonymy  is 
connnoner  among  every  people  tlian  that  by  which  some 
parts  of  the  body  have  been  substituted  to  denote  certaiii 
powers  or  affections  of  the  mind  with  which  they  are  sup- 
posed to  be  connected.  But  as  the  opinions  of  one  nation 
differ  on  this  article  from  those  of  another,  the  figurative 
■sense  in  one  tongue  will  bj'^  no  means  direct  us  to  the  figura- 
tive sense  in  another.  The  same  may  be  said  of  different 
ages.  A  commentator  on  Persius  has  this  curious  remark  : 
"  Naturalists  affirm  that  men  laugh  with  tJie  spleen,  rage  with 

suitably  rendered  into  English  "Whuse  si.!e  cTiil  that  point  seek  ?"  is  a 
literjl  version,  bnt  qniic  intolerable.  "  WiioiTi  did  you  mean  to  assail  with 
that  sword  '."  Here  the  sense  is  exhibited  ;  but  as  iieiUinrlroiie  is  rendered, 
much  of  the  energy  is  lost,  in  lik'^  manner  in  llic  plirase  "  \'aiio  Mario 
pugnatum  e.st."  "'I'hey  fought  with  various  success,"  ihere  is  a  meionymy 
in  the  word  .1/a>7c  which  no  Iranslaior  mto  any  modem  lan^'uage,  who  hath 
common  sense,  Vi^ould  attempt  to  transplant  mto  liis  version. — See  T'aiii 
des  Tropes,  par  M.  du  Miirsais,  art.  vii.,  iv. 

Dd2 


318  THE  PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

the  gall,  love  with  the  liver,  understand  with  the  heart,  and 
boast  with  the  lungs."*  A  modern  may  say  with  Sganarelle 
in  the  comedy,  "  It  was  so  formerly,  but  we  have  changed  all 
that  ;"t  for  so  unlike  are  our  notions,  that  tlie  spleen  is  ac- 
counted tbe  seat  of  melancholy  and  ill-humour.  The  word 
is  accordingly  often  used  to  denote  that  temper  ;  so  that  with 
us  a  splenetic  man,  and  a  laughing,  merry  fellow,  form  two 
characters  that  are  perfect  contrasts  to  each  other.  'I'he 
heart  we  consider  as  the  seat,  not  of  the  understanding,  but 
of  the  affections  and  of  courage.  Formerly,  indeed,  we  seem 
to  have  regarded  the  liver  as  the  seat  of  courage;  hence  the 
term  mllk-lwered  for  cowardly. J 

One  plain  consequence  of  the  doctrine  on  this  head  which 
I  have  been  endeavouring  to  elucidate  is,  that  in  every  na 
tion  where  from  time  to  time  there  is  an  increase  of  knowl- 
edge and  an  improvement  in  the  arts,  or  where  there  often 
appear  new  works  of  genius  in  philosophy,  history,  or  poetry, 
there  will  be  in  many  words  a  transition  more  or  less  grad- 
ual, as  that  improvement  is  more  or  less  rapid,  from  their  be- 
ing the  figurative  to  their  being  the  proper  signs  of  certain 
ideas,  and  sometimes  from  their  being  the  figurative  sign  of 
one,  to  their  being  the  figurative  signs  of  another  idea.  And 
this,  by-the-way,  discloses  to  us  one  of  the  many  sources  of 
mutation  to  be  found  in  every  tongue.  This  transition  will 
perhaps  more  frequently  happen  in  metaphor  than  in  other 
tropes,  inasmuch  as  the  relation  of  resemblance  is  generally 
less-  striking,  and,  therefore,  more  ready  to  be  overlooked, 
than  those  relations  on  which  the  others  are  founded ;  yet 

*  Coinutuson  these  worfis  of  the  first  satire,  Sum  ■petulanti splene cachinnn. 
"  Physici  dicunt  liomines  splene  ridere,  telle  irasci,  jscore  ainare,  corde  sa- 
pe.-e.  et  pulinone  jactari."  In  the  ancient  piece  called  tlie  Testaments  of 
the  Twelve  Patriarchs,  supposed  to  be  the  work  uf  a  Christian  of  the  tirst 
century,  we  (ind  these  words  in  the  testament  ot  Naphtali,  fqr  illustration 
that  God  made  all  things  good,  adapting  each  to  its  proper  use:  '"Ka/zi^iav 
Ui  ^fjdvtioiv,  riT'ifi  Vfjos  S-u^iov,  j^oX^v  ttjios  iriKpiuv,  ei{  yeXuira  itXriva,  vs^iiovs  ct; 
Tavuvpytav." — Grab.  SpiciL  ptnnan,  see.  i.,  t.  i,,  ed.  2,  p.  212. 

t  "  Cela  etoit  autrefois  ainsi ;  mais  nous  avons  cliange  tout  cela."  Le 
medecin  inalgre  lui. — Moliirc. 

X  Fiom  these  things  we  may  observe,  by-the-vvay,  how  unsafe  it  is  in 
translating,  especially  from  an  ancient  language  into  a  modern,  to  reckon 
that  because  ilie  proper  sense  in  two  words  of  the  different  languages  cor- 
responds, the  metaphorical  sense  of  the  same  words  will  correspond  also. 
In  this  last  respect  the  words,  as  we  have  seen,  may  nevertheless  be  very 
different  in  signilica'ion,  or  even  opposite.  I  think,  in  particular,  that  many 
translators  of  the  Bib'e  have  been  betrayed  into  blunders  through  not  suHl- 
ciently  adverting  to  this  circumstance.  For  instaiice,  iiothin..'  at  first  ap- 
pears to  be  juster,  as  well  as  a  more  literal  version  of  the  Greek  (tkXi?;ok'i/)- 
<5(oj,  than  the  Ertglish  hardhmrirj.  Yet  1  sus  ect  that  tlie  true  me.inmg 
of  the  former  term,  both  in  the  Septuagint  and  in  the  New  Testament,  is 
not  cruel,  as  the  F-nglish  word  imports,  but  indocile,  intraciahle.  The  gen- 
eral remark  might  be  illustrated  by  numberless  examples  ;  but  this  is  not 
the  place. 


THE   PHrLOSOPIlY    OT    nilETORIC.  319 

that  they  too  will  sometimes  bo  effeetcd  by  it  wo  have  no  rea- 
son to  question.  Tliat  in  those  metonymies,  in  parlicnlar, 
of  whic-h  some  instances  have  been  given,  wlierein  lliu  con- 
nexion niay  be  justly  accounted  more  imaginary  than  real, 
such  changes  in  the  application  should  arise,  might  naturally 
be  expected.  The  transition  from  the  figurative  to  the  prop- 
er, in  regard  to  such  terms  as  are  in  daily  us(!,  is  indeed  in- 
evitable. The  word  vessel  in  English  iialli  doubtless  been  at 
first  introduced  by  a  synecdociie  to  signify  a  s/iip,  the  genus 
for  the  species,  but  is  now  become  i)y  use  as  much  a  proper 
term  in  this  signification  as  the  word  ship  itself. 

With  regard  to  metaphor,  it  is  certain  that,  in  all  languages, 
there  are  many  words  which  at  first  had  one  sense  only,  and 
afterward  acquired  another  by  metaphorical  apphcation,  of 
which  words  both  senses  are  now  become  so  current  that  it 
would  be  difficult  for  any  but  an  elymoh)gist  to  determine 
which  is  the  original  and  whicli  the  metaphorical.  Of  this 
kind  in  tlie  Enghsh  tongue  are  the  substantives  conception, 
apprehension,  expression  ;  the  first  of  these,  ctmceplion,  when 
it  notes  an  action  of  the  mind,  and  when  the  beginning  of 
pregnancy  in  a  female,  is  alike  supported  by  use  ;  the  second 
and  third  terms,  apprehension  for  seizure,  and  expression  for 
squeezing  out,  are  now  rather  uncommon.  Yet  these  are 
doubtless  the  primitive  significations. 

It  may  be  farther  remarked,  that  in  some  words  the  meta- 
phorical sense  has  jostled  out  the  original  sense  altogether, 
so  that  in  respect  of  it  they  are  become  obsolete.  Of  this 
kind  in  our  tongue  are  the  verbs  to  train,  to  curb.  In  edifi/,  to 
embrace,  the  primitive  significations  whereof  were  to  draw,  to 
bend,  to  build,  lo  lift.  And  if  one  should  now  speak  of  the 
aculeness  of  a  razor  or  of  the  ardour  of  a  fire,  we  could  not 
say  that  to  a  linguist  he  would  sjjeak  uninleUigiljIy,  but  by  eve- 
ry man  of  sense  he  would  be  thought  to  express  iiimself  both 
pedantically  and  improperly.  The  word  ruminate,  though 
good  in  the  metaphorical  sense,  to  denote  musin<r  on  a  subject, 
would  scarcely  be  admitted,  except  in  poetry,  in  the  literal 
sense,  for  chewing  the  cud.  Thus  it  happens  witji  languages 
as  with  countries  ;  strangers  received  at  first  through  chari- 
ity,  often  in  time  grow  strong  enough  to  dispossess  the  na- 
tives. 

Now,  in  regard  to  all  the  words  which  fall  under  the  two 
last  remarks,  whatever  they  were  formerly,  or  in  whatever 
light  they  may  be  considered  by  the  gramniarian  and  the  lex- 
icograplier,  ihey  cannot  be  considered  as  genuine  metaphors 
by  the  rheiorician.  1  have  already  assigned  tlie  n'ason.  They 
have  nothing  of  tiie  elfect  of  metaphor  upon  the  hearer.  On 
the  contrar}',  like  proper  terms,  they  suggest  directly  to  his 
mnid,  without  the  intervention  of  any  image,  the  ideas  which 
'ho  speaker  proposed  to  convey  by  them. 


320  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

From  all  that  hath  been  said,  it  evidently  follows,  that  those 
metaphors  which  hold  mostly  of  tlie  thought,  that  is,  those  to 
wliicli  the  ear  hath  not  been  too  much  familiarized,  have  most 
of  the  peculiar  vivacity  resulting  from  this  trope;  the  inva- 
riable effect  of  very  frequent  use  being  to  convert  the  niela- 
phorical  into  a  proper  meaning.  A  metaphor  halh  undouht 
edly  the  strongest  effect  when  it  is  first  ushered  into  the  Ian 
guage ;  but  by  reason  of  its  peculiar  boldness,  this,  as  was 
hinted  already,  is  rarely  to  be  hazarded.  I  may  say  it  ought 
never  to  be  hazarded,  unless  when  both  the  perspicuity  is  se- 
cured to  an  ordinary  understanding  by  the  connexion,  and 
the  resemblance  suggested  is  very  striking.  A  new  meta- 
phor (and  the  same  holds,  though  in  a  lower  degree,  of  every 
trope)  is  never  regarded  with  indifference.  If  it  be  not  a 
beauty,  it  is  a  blemish.  Besides,  the  more  a  language  ad- 
vanceth  in  richness  and  precision,  and  the  more  a  spirit  of 
criticism  prevails  among  those  who  speak  it,  the  more  deli- 
cate the  people  become  in  this  respect,  and  tlie  more  averse 
to  the  admission  of  new  metaphors.  It  is  even  proper  it 
should  be  so,  there  not  being  the  same  plea  of  necessity  in 
such  languages  as  in  those  that  are  but  poorly  supplied  with 
■words.  Hence  it  is  that,  in  modern  times,  the  privilege  of 
coining  these  tropes  is  almost  confined  to  poets  and  orators  ; 
and  as  to  the  latter,  they  can  hardly  ever  be  said  to  have  this 
indulgence,  unless  when  they  are  wrouglit  up  to  a  kind  of  en- 
thusiasm by  their  subject.  Hence,  also,  have  arisen  those 
qualifying  phrases  in  discourse,  which,  though  so  common  in 
Greek  and  Latin,  as  well  as  in  modern  languages,  are  rarely, 
If  ever,  to  be  met  with  either  in  the  rudest  or  in  the  most  an- 
cient tongues.  These  are,  so  lo  spea/c,  If  I  mat/  thus  express 
myself,  and  the  like. 

I  cannot  help  remarking,  before  I  conclude  this  article  of 
the  origin  of  tropes,  and  of  the  changes  they  undergo  through 
the  gradual  operation  of  custom,  that  critics  ought  to  show 
more  reserve  and  modesty  than  they  commonly  do  in  pro- 
nouncing either  on  the  fitness  or  on  the  beauty  of  such  as 
occur  sometimes  in  ancient  authors.  For,  first,  it  ought  to 
be  observed  (as  may  be  collected  from  what  has  been  shown 
above),  that  the  less  enlightened  a  nation  is,  their  language 
Avill  of  necessity  the  more  abound  in  tropes,  and  the  people 
will  be  the  less  shy  of  admitting  those  whicli  have  but  a  re- 
mote connexion  with  the  things  they  are  employed  to  denote. 
Again,  it  ought  to  be  considered  that  many  words  which  must 
appear  as  tropical  to  a  learner  of  a  distant  age,  who  acquires 
the  language  by  the  help  of  grammars  and  dictionaries,  may, 
through  the  imperceptible  influence  of  use,  have  totally  lost 
that  appearance  to  the  natives,  who  consider  them  purely  as 
proper  terms.  A  stranger  v.^ill  be  apt  to  mistake  a  grammati- 
cal for  a  rhetorical  trope,  or  even  an  accidental  homonvmv 


Tirn  niiLosoPHY  of  niinTORic.^  321 

for  a  far-fptcliP(l  figure.  Lastly,  it  might  to  be  rrinombcred 
liow  nuich  the  whole  of  this  matter  is  everywhere  under  the 
dominion  of  caprice,  and  liow  little  iIk;  figurative  part  of  the 
language  of  any  people  is  susceptihie  of  a  literal  translation, 
that  will  be  accounted  tolerable,  into  the  langunge  of  any 
other.  If  these  things  were  properly  attended  to,  I  innigine 
we  should,  on  these  subjects,  be  more  diffident  of  our  own 
judgment,  and,  consequently,  less  captious  and  decisive. 

So  much  for  the  nature  of  tropes  in  general,  and  ttiose  uni- 
versal principles  on  which  in  every  tongue  their  eflicary  de- 
pends; and  so  much  for  the  distinction  naturally  consequent 
on  those  principles  into  grammatical  tropes  and  tropes  rhe- 
torical. 

Part  II.  The  different  Sorts  of  Tropes  conducive  to  Vivacilij. 

I  now  consider  severally  the  particular  ways  wherein  rhe- 
torical tropes  may  be  rendered  subservient  to  vivacity. 

1.    THE    LESS    FOR    THE    MORE    GENERAL. 

The  first  way  I  shall  mention  is  when,  by  means  of  the 
trope,  a  species  is  aptly  represented  by  an  individual,  or  a 
genus  by  a  species.  I  begin  with  this,  because  it  comes 
nearest  that  speciality  in  the  use  of  proper  terms,  from  which, 
as  was  evinced  already,  their  vivacity  chiefly  results.  Of  the 
individual  for  the  species  I  shall  give  an  example  from  our 
celebrated  satirist,  ]Mr.  Pape  : 

"  May  some  choice  patron  bless  cacli  gray  goose  quill ! 
Mayev'ry  Bavius  liave  his  Bulb  still  '."* 

Here,  by  a  beautiful  antonomasia.  Bavius,  a  proper  name,  is 
made  to  represent  one  whole  class  of  men  ;  Bufo,  also  a 
proper  name  (it  matters  not  whether  real  or  fictitious),  is 
made  to  represent  another  class.  By  the  former  is  meant 
every  bad  poet,  by  the  latter  every  rich  fool  who  gives  his 
patronage  to  such.  As  what  precedes  in  the  Essay  secures 
the  perspicuity  (and  in  introducing  tropes  of  this  kind,  espe- 
cially new  ones,  it  is  necessary  that  the  perspicuity  be  thus 
secured),  it  was  impossible  in  another  manner  to  express  the 
sentiment  with  equal  vivacity. 

There  is  also  a  sort  of  antonomasia  to  which  use  hath  long 
ago  given  her  sanction,  and  which,  therefore,  needs  not  to  be 
introduced  with  much  precaution.  Such  is  the  following  ap- 
plication of  famous  names :  a  Solomon  for  a  wise  man.  a 
Crresus  for  a  rich  man,  a  Judas  for  a  trajtor,  a  Demosthenes 
for  an  orator,  and  a  Homer  for  a  poet.  Nor  do  these  want  a 
share  of  vivacity,  when  apposite  and  properly  managed. 

That  kind  of  synecdoclie  by  which  the  species  is  put  tor 
the  genus,  is  used  but  sparingly  in  our  language.     Examples. 

• 
*  Prologue  lo  the  Satires. 


1^ 


322  THE    pniLOSOPIIY    OF    RHETORIC. 

« 

however,  occur  sometimes,  as  when  an  assassin  is  termed  a 
cut-throat,  or  a  fiction  a  lie,  as  in  these  words  of  Dryden : 
"The cock  and  Ibx  the  fool  ami  knave  imply, 
The  truth  is  moral,  though  the  tale  a/i>." 

In  hke  manner,  slaughter,  especially  in  battle,  is  by  poets 
sometimes  de-nominated  murder,  and  lesral  prosecution  pcrxe- 
culion.  Often,  in  these  instances,  the  word  may  justly  be 
said  to  be  used  without  a  figure.  It  may,  however,  in  gen- 
eral, be  affirmed  of  all  those  terms,  that  they  are  more  vivid 
and  forcible  for  this  single  reason,  because  they  are  more 
special. 

There  is  one  species  of  the  onomatopeia  which  very  much 
resembles  the  antonomasia  just  now  taken  notice  of.  It  is 
when  a  verb  is  formed  from  a  proper  name,  in  order  to  ex- 
press some  particular  action  for  which  tiie  person  to  whom 
the  name  belonged  was  remarkable.  An  example  of  this  we 
have  in  the  instructions  which  Hamlet  gave  the  players  who 
were  to  act  his  piece  before  the  king  and  the  queen.  He 
mentioned  his  having  seen  some  actors  wlio  in  their  way  out- 
heroded  Herod,  intimating  that  by  the  outrageous  gestures 
they  used  in  the  representation  they  overacted  even  the  fury 
and  violence  of  that  tyrant.  This  trope  hath  been  admirably 
imitated  by  Swift,  who  says  concerning  Blackmore,  the  au- 
thor of  a  translation  of  some  of  the  Psalms  into  English  verse. 

"  Sternhold  himself  he  out-sternholJed." 

How  languid  in  comparison  of  this  would  it  have  been  to 
say,  that  in  Sternhold's  own  manner  Sir  Richard  outdid  him. 
But  it  must  be  owned  that  this  trope,  the  onvmalopeia,  in  any 
form  whatever,  hath  little  scope  in  our  tongue,  and  is  hardly 
admissible  except  in  burlesque. 

2.    THE    MOST    INTERESTING    CIRCUMSTANCE    DISTINGUISHED. 

The  second  way  I  shall  take  notice  of,  wherein  the  use  of 
tropes  may  conduce  to  vivacity,  is  when  the  trope  tends  to 
fix  the  attention  on  that  particular  of  the  subject  which  is 
most  interesting,  or  on  which  the  action  related,  or  fact  re- 
ferred to,  immediately  depends.  This  bears  a  resemblance 
to  the  former  method  ;  for  by  that  an  individual  serves  to  ex- 
hibit a  species,  and  a  species  a  genus  :  by  this  a  part  is  made 
to  represent  the  whole,  the  abstract,  as  logicians  term  it,  to 
suggest  the  concrete,  the  passion  its  object,  the  operation  its 
subject,  the  instrument  the  agent,  and  the  gift  the  giver.  The 
tropes  which  contribute  in  this  way  to  invigorate  the  expres- 
sion are  these  two,  the  synecdoche  and  the  metonymy. 

For  an  illustration  of  tiiis  in  the  synecdoche,  let  it  be  ob- 
served, that  by  this  trope  the  word  hand  is  sometimes  used 
for  man,  especially  one  employed  in  manual  labour.  Now  in 
*such  expressions  as  the  following, 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HHETORIC.  323 

"All  !ta7ids  employ'd,  the  royal  woik  grows  warm,"'* 

it  is  obvidiis,  from  tlie  priiicinles  al)ove  cxplniiiod,  that  the 
trope;  coiitrihuies  to  vivacity,  ami  could  not  be  with  equal  ad- 
vantage supplied  by  a  proper  term.  But  in  sucli  phrases  as 
these,  '•Out;  ol"  the  hands  fell  overboard" — "All  our  iiands 
were  asleep."  it  is  ridiculous,  as  what  is  aflirmed  hath  no 
particular  relation  to  the  part  specified.  The  application  of 
tropes  in  this  inidislinguishing  manner  is  what  principally 
characterizes  the  contemptible  cant  of  particular  professions. 
I  shall  give  another  example.  A  sail  wiih  us  frequently  de- 
notes a  ship.  Now  to  say  "  We  descried  a  sailnl  a  distance," 
hath  more  vivacity  than  to  say  "  We  descried  a  s/np,'''  be- 
cause, in  fact,  the  sail  is  that  part  which  is  first  discovered 
by  the  eye;  but  to  say  "Our  sails  jjloughed  the  main,"  in- 
stead of  "  Our  ships  ploughed  the  main,'"  would  justly  be  ac- 
cotmted  nonsensical,  because  what  is  metaphorically  termed 
ploiighnig  I  he  main  is  the,  immerihite  action  of  the  keel,  a  vi'ry 
different  part  of  the  vessel,  'lo  produce  but  one  other  in- 
stance, the  word  roof  is  emphatically  put  for  house  in  the 
follow  ing  quotation  : 

"  Return  to  Iipr?  aiul  fifty  men  dismi.ss'd  ? 
No  ;  r.ilher  1  abjure  all  roofs,  and  choose 
To  be  a  comrade  with  the  wolland  owl, 
To  wage  against  the  enmity  o'  ih'  air 
rsecesbity's  sharp  pinch. "f 

The  notion  of  a  house  as  a  shelter  from  the  inclemencies  of 
the  sky,  alluded  to  in  these  lines,  directly  leads  the  imagina- 
tion to  form  a  more  vivid  idea  of  that  part  of  the  building 
which  is  over  our  heads. J 

It  was  observed  that  the  metonymy  also  contributes  in  this 

*  Dryden.  t  Sliakspeare's  Lear. 

t  The  Latin  e.xample  quoted  from  Tully  in  a  note  on  the  first  pan  of  this 
section  afiurds  a  good  illustration  of  iliis  doctrine  :  "  Ciijns  latus  ille  nmcro 
peiebai .'"  Mucro  for  gladius,  the  point  (or  the  weapon,  is  in  this  place  a 
iiope  particularly  a[)|)0¥ite.  From  the  point  the  danger  iinmediatciy  pro- 
ceeds; lo  it,  therefore,  in  any  assault,  the  eye  both  o(  the  assailant  and  of 
the  assailed  are  naturaby  directed :  of  the  one  that  he  may  guide  it  arijjht, 
and  of  the  other  liiiit  he  may  avoid  it.  Consequently,  on  it  the  imaginaiiou 
will  ti.x,  as  on  that  particular  which  is  the  most  iniere.siing,  because  on  it 
the  event  directly  depends;  and  wherever  the  exjiression  thus  happily  as- 
sists the  lancy  by  coinciding  with  its  natural  bent,  the  sentiment  is  exhib- 
ited with  vivacity.  We  may  remark  by  the  way,  that  the  specif,  ing  of  the 
part  aimed  at,  liy  saying  Ciijns  laiut;  and  not  simi>ly  qu(^m,  makes  ihe  ex- 
pression itill  more  graphical.  'W't  latus  here  is  no  trope,  else  it  had  been 
Quod  latus,  not  Cujus  latus.  But  that  we  may  conceive  the  dill'ereiice  l)e- 
tween  such  a  proj>er  use  of  tropes  as  is  here  exemplified,  and  such  an  inju- 
dicious use  as  noway  lends  to  enliven  ihe  expression,  let  us  suppose  the 
oiator  had  intended  to  say  "  he  held  a  sword  in  Ins  hand."'  11,  instead  of 
the  proper  word,  he  had  employed  the  siiiiccdnrh'',n\v\  said  "  mucrnui-m  manu 
tenebal."  he  would  have  spoken  absurdly,  and  counteracted  the  bent  ol  the 
fancy,  which  in  this  instance  leads  tho  attention  to  the  hilt  of  the  sword, 
not  to  the  point. 


324  THE  piiiLosoriiY  of  niiETonrc. 

way  to  vivacity.  It  dotli  so  by  substituting  the  instrument 
for  the  agent,  by  employing  the  abstract  to  represent  the  con- 
crete, or  by  naming  the  passion  ior  its  object,  the  gift  for  the 
giver,  the  operation  for  the  subject.  Of  the  first  sort,tlic  in- 
stances are  very  common  ;  as  when  we  say  of  a  poem  thai  it 
is  the  production  of  an  elegant  ;?e?i  instead  of  an  elegant  wri- 
ter. In  the  same  v/ay  pencil  is  sometimes  used  for  painter. 
It  must  be  owned,  that  the  triteness  of  such  expressions  con- 
siderably lessens  their  value,  and  that  for  a  reason  explained 
in  the  preceding  part  of  this  section.  It  is,  however,  certain, 
that  what  vivacit}'  can  justly  be  ascribed  to  them  ariseth 
purely  from  the  principle  which  hath  jusi  now  been  illustra- 
ted in  the  synecdoche  ;  namely,  a  coincidence  in  the  expres- 
sion with  the  bent  of  the  imagination,  both  pointing  to  that 
particular  with  which  the  subject  spoken  of  is  immediately 
connected.  Nay,  so  close  is  the  relation  between  this  spe- 
cies of  the  metonymy  and  that  of  the  synecdoche  above  ex- 
emplified, that  the  same  expression  may  sometimes  be  con- 
sidered indifferently  as  belonging  to  either  trope.  Thus,  in 
the  quotation  brought  from  Dryden,  "  All  hands  employ'd,"  it 
is  of  no  consequence  whether  we  denominate  the  wora  hands 
one  or  other,  a  part  for  the  whole,  or  the  instrument  for  the 
agent. 

The  second  species  of  metonymy  mentioned,  the  abstract 
for  the  concrete,  occurs  much  seldomer,  bat  hath  also,  in  the 
same  way,  a  ver)'  good  effect.  Isaac  Bickcrstaff,  in  his  lucu- 
brations, acquaints  us  with  a  visit  which  an  eminent  rake  and 
his  companions  made  to  a  Protestant  nunnery  erected  in  Eng- 
land by  some  ladies  of  rank.  '■  When  he  entered,"  says  the 
author,  "  upon  seeing  a  servant  coming  towards  him  with  a 
design  to  tell  him  this  was  no  place  for  them,  up  goes  my 
grave  Impudence  to  the  maid."*  Everybody  must  perceive 
that  the  expression  would  have  been  incomparably  fainter  if 
Ue  had  said,  "  Up  goes  my  grave  impudent  fellow  to  the  maid." 
'The  reason  is  obvious :  an  impudent  fellow  means  one  who, 
among  other  qualities,  has  that  of  impudence  ;  whereas,  by 
personifying  the  abstract,  you  leave  no  room  for  thinking  of 
any  other  quality  ;  the  attention  is  entirely  fixed  on  that  to 
which  the  action  related  is  imputable,  and  thus  the  natural 
tendency  of  the  fancy  is  humoured  by  the  expression. 

The  last  species  of  this  trope  I  took  notice  of,  if  that  can 
be  called  one  species  which  is  so  various  in  its  appearances, 
presenting  us  sometimes  Avith  the  passion  instead  of  its  ob- 
ject, sometimes  with  the  operation  instead  of  its  subject,  and 
sometimes  with  the  gift  instead  of  the  giver,  is  in  very  fre- 
quent use.  By  this  trope  the  Almighty  hath  been  styled  "  the 
terror  of  the  oppressor,  and  the  refuge  of  the  oppressed  ;" 
which,  though  the  same  in  sense,  is  more  emphatical  than 
*  Tatler,  No.  32. 


THE   nirLosoriiY  or  rhf-toric.  325 

•  the  object  of  terror  to  the  oppressor,  and  tlie  giver  of  ref- 
uge to  the  oppressed."  "  'J'hc  Lord  is  my  .fo/)^^"  says  Moses  ; 
"  he  is  become  my  salvation  ;"*  that  is,  the  subject  of  my 
song,  tlie  author  of  my  salvation.  Dryden  makes  Lord 
Shaftesbury  style  the  Duke  of  Monmouth 

"  The  people's  prayer,  the  glad  diviner's  theme, 
The  young  men's  vision,  and  the  old  men's  dream. "t 

Here  the  terms  prai/er,  vision,  dream  (for  the  word  theme  is 
literal),  are  used  each  for  its  respective  subject.  Nothing  is 
more  natural  or  more  common  among  all  nations,  the  sim- 
plest as  well  as  the  most  refmod,  than  to  substitute  the  pas- 
sion for  its  object.  Kuch  tropes  as  these,  my  love,  my  jo>/,  my 
delight,  my  aversion,  my  horror,  for  that  which  excites  the 
emotion,  are  to  be  found  in  every  language.  Holy  Writ 
abounds  in  them  ;  and  they  are  not  seldom  to  be  met  with  in 
the  poems  of  Ossian.  "  'rhe  sigh  of  her  secret  soul"  is  a  fine 
metonymy  of  this  kind,  to  express  the  youth  for  whom  she 
sighs  in  secret.  As  the  vivacity  of  the  expression  in  such 
quotations  needs  no  illustration  to  persons  of  taste,  that  the 
cause  of  this  vivacity  ariseth  from  the  coincidence  of  the  ex- 
pression witii  the  bent  of  the  imagination,  fixing  on  the  most 
interesting  particular,  needs  no  eviction  to  persons  of  judg- 
ment. 

3.    THINGS    SENSIBLE    FOn   THINGS    INTELLIGIBLE. 

A  third  way  wherein  tropes  may  be  rendered  subservient 
to  vivacity  is  when  things  intelligible  are  represented  by 
things  sensible.  There  is  no  truth  more  evident  than  that 
the  imagination  is  more  strongly  affected  by  what  is  perceiv- 
ed by  the  sen.^cs  than  by  what  is  conceived  by  the  under- 
standing. If,  therefore,  mj'  subject  be  of  things  only  con- 
ceivable, it  will  conduce  to  enliven  the  style  that  the  tropes 
which  I  employ,  when  I  find  it  convenient  to  employ  tropes, 
exhibit  to  the  fancy  things  perceivable.  * 

I  shall  illustrate  this  doctrine  first  in  metaphors.  A  meta- 
phor, if  apposite,  hath  always  some  degree  of  vivacity,  from 
the  bare  exhibition  of  likeness,  even  though  the  literal  and 
the  figurative  senses  of  the  word  belong  to  the  same  class  of 
objects  ;  I  mean  only  in  this  respect  the  same,  that  they  be 
both  sensible  or  both  intelligible.  Thus  a  blunder  in  the  ad- 
ministration of  public  affairs  hath  been  termed  a  solecism  in 
politics,  both  things  intelligible.  Again,  when  the  word  sails 
is  employed  to  denote  the  wings  of  a  fowl,  or  conversely, 
when  the  word  tvings  is  adopted  to  signify  the  sails  of  a  ship, 
both  objects  are  of  the  same  class,  as  both  things  are  sensi- 
ole  ;  yet  these  metaphors  have  a  considerahle  share  of  vi- 

*  Exod.,  XV.,  2.  t  Absalom  and  Achitophel. 

E  E 


326  THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF   RHETORIC. 

vacity,  by  reason  of  the  striking  resemblance  both  in  tne  ap- 
pearance of  the  things  signified  and  in  their  use.  The  last, 
however,  is  tlie  liesi,  for  a  reason  which  will  be  given  in  the 
next  romark.  But,  in  gfM)eral,  it  may  be  asserted  that,  in  the 
representation  of  things  sensible,  lliere  is  less  occasion  for 
this  trope  ;  accordingly, Hhis  application  of  it  is  now  almost 
entirely  left  to  the  poets.  On  the  contrar_v,  if  we  critically 
examine  any  language,  ancient-or  modern,  and  trace  its  sev- 
eral terms  and  plirases  to  tlieir  source,  we  shall  find  it  hold 
invariably,  that  all  the  words  made  use  of  to  denote  spiritual 
and  intellectual  tilings  are  in  their  origin  metaphors,  taken 
from  the  objects  of  sense.  This  shows  evidently  that  the 
latter  have  made  the  earliest  impressions  ;  have,  by  conse- 
quence, first  obtained  names  in  every  tongne  ;  and  are  still, 
as  it  were,  luore  present  with  us,  and  strike  the  imagination 
more  forcibly  than  the  former. 

It  may  be  said,  that  if  this  observation  be  true,  it  is  to  no 
purpose  to  mention,  as  a  method  of  enlivening  the  diction,  the 
representing  of  intelligible  things  by  sensible  images,  since  it 
is  impossible  by  language  to  represent  them  otherwise.  To 
this  1  answer,  that  the  words  of  which  I  am  speaking  I  call 
metaphors  in  their  origin  ;  notwithstanding  which,  they  may 
be  at  present,  agreeably  to  what  was  formerly  observed,  prop- 
er terms.  When  speaking  of  tropes  in  general,  it  u'as  re- 
marked that  many  words,  which  to  a  grammatical  eye  appear 
metaphors,  are  in  the  rhetorician's  estimate  no  metaphors  at 
all.  The  ground  of  this  difference  is,  that  the  grammarian 
and  the  rhetorician  try  the  words  by  very  different  tests. 
The  touchstone  of  the  former  is  etymology,  that  of  the  lat- 
ter is  present  use.  The  former  peruselh  a  page,  and  perhaps 
finds  not  in  the  whole  ten  words  that  are  not  metaphorical ; 
the  latter  exainines  the  same  page,  and  doth  not  discover  in 
it  a  single  metaphor.  What  critic,  for  example,  would  ever 
think  of  applying  this  appellation  io  terms  such  as  these — 
spirit,  evidence,  understanding,  reflection  ?  or  what  etymologist 
would  not  acknowledge  that  to  this  trope  solely  these  terms 
had  owed  their  birth  1 

But  I  proceed  to  give  examples  of  vivacity  by  true  rhetor- 
ical metaphors,  wherein  things  sensible  are  brought  to  signi- 
f}'  things  intelligible.     Of  this  the  following  is  one  from  Pope  : 

"  At  leriE^th  Erasmus,  that  great  injured  name 
(The  glory  of  the  priesthooil  and  the  shame  !), 
Sienini'd  tlie  wild  torrent  of  a  barbarous  age. 
And  drove  those  holy  Vandals  oft' the  stage.'" 

Here  the  almost  irresistible  influence  of  general  manners, 
which  is  an  object  purely  of  the  understanding,  is  very  ap- 
positely and  vivaciously  represented  by  a  torrent,  an  object 
both  of  the  sight  and  of  the  feeling.  By  the  same  vivid  kind 
of  metaphor,  ligld  is  used  for  knowledge,  bndle  for  restraint; 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    nHETORIC.  327 

we  speak  of  hurnin^  with  zeal,  being  inflamed  wiili  anger, 
and  having  a  roolcd  projndico. 

But  nielaphor  is  not  the  only  trope  which  can  in  lliis  way 
conferj'lvaciry  ;  nielonyniy  fiocineiitly,  in  ;i  similar  manner, 
promotes  the  same  end.  One  very  common  species  of  the 
metonymy  is  when  the  badge  is  put  for  the  office,  and  this 
mvariably  exhibits  a  sensible  in  Hen  of  an  inteUigible  objert. 
Thus  we  say  the  ?ni/re  for  the  priesthood,  the  crown  for  the 
royalty  ;  for  tlie  military  occupation  we  say  the  swnrd  ;  and 
for  tlie  literary  professions,  those  especially  of  theology,  law, 
and  physic,  the  common  expression  is  the  ^foitv/.  Often,  also, 
in  those  metonymies  wherein  the  cause  is  put  for  the  effect, 
and  contrariwise  in  those  wherein  the  effect  is  put  for  I  he 
cause,  we  have  the  same  thing  exemplified,  a  sensible  object 
presented  to  the  mind  instead  (jf  an  intelligible.  Of  the  for- 
mer, the  cause  for  the  effect,  the  following  lines  of  Dryden 
may  serve  as  an  illustration  : 

"'Tis  all  Ihy  bn.siness.  linsiness  how  to  shun, 
To  bask  thy  naked  borly  in  the  sun."* 

Thougli  the  rhyme  had  permitted  the  change,  the  word 
sunshine  instead  of  the  sun  would  have  rendered  the  expres- 
sion weaker.  The  luminary  itself  is  not  only  a  nobler  and 
distincter,  but  a  more  immediate  object- to -Uie. imagination 
than  its  effulgence,  which,  though  in  some  respects  sensible 
«»-iiL£dLas-Ji;e  other,  is  in  some  respect  merely  intelligible,  it 
not  being  perceived  directly  no  more  than  the  air.  but  discov- 
ered by  reflection  from  the  things  which  it  enlightens.  Ac- 
cordingly, we  ascribe  to  it  neither  magnitude  nor  figure,  and 
scarce,  with  propriety,  even  colour.  As  an  exemplification 
of  the  latter,  the  effect,  or  something  consequential  for  the 
cause,  or,  at  least,  the  implement  for  the  motive  of  using  it, 
these  words  of  Scripture  will  serve  :  "  The  sword  wilhoutj 
and  terror  vvithin,"t  where^-the^erm  s\vard,  which  presents  a\ 

€iatiiar  ajid4HiiXjeixabla  image  to  the  fancvvipn^t  be  more' 
ufesqlie  Itlini  tlie  word  war,  which  convj,-j;s  au-^Joa  llmt  is  \ 
^ue  and  only  c<H>cetvable,  irotHtreingTnlieiuv^e  sensible  bnt  \\ 
bylts  consequences. 

~^-^^   4.    THINGS    ANIMATE    FOR    THjJNGS- 

A  fourth  way  in  which  tropes  may  promote  vivacity  is 
•when  things  sensitive  are  presented  to  the  fancy  instead  of 
things  lifeless  :  or.  which  is  nearly  the  same,  when  life,  per- 
cc^ption,  activity,  design,  passion,  or  any  property  of  sentient 
beings,  is  by  means  of  the  trope  attributed  to  things  inani- 
mate. It  is  not  more  evident  that  the  imagination  is  more 
strongly  affected  by  things  sensible  than  by  thuigs  intelligihle, 
than  It  is  evident  that  things  animate  awaken  greater  atten- 

•  Dryden's  Persius.  t  Dcut.,  xxxii.,  2o. 

Z2 


S.28  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

tion,  and  make  a  stronger  impression  on  the  mind,  than  things 
senseless.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  the  quality  of  which  I 
am  treating  hath  come  to  be  termed  vivacity,  or  liveliness  of 
style. 

In  exemplifying  what  hath  been  now  advanced,  1  shall  pro- 
ceed in  the  method  which  I  took  in  the  former  article,  and 
begin  with  metaphor.  By  a  metaphor  of  this  kind,  a  literary 
performance  hath  been  styled  the  offspring  of  the  brain ;  by 
it  a  state  or  government  in  its  first  stage  is  represented  as  a 
child  in  these  lines  of  Dryden  ; 

••  When  empire  in  its  childhood  first  appears, 
A  watchful  fate  o'ersees  its  tender  years."* 

In  the  last  tjj'o  examples  we  have  things  lifeless  exhibited 
by  things  animate.  In  the  following,  wherein  the  effect  is 
much  the  same,  sense,  feeling,  and  affection  are  ascribed 
metaphorically  to  inanimate  matter.  Thomson,  describing 
the  influence  of  the  sunbeams  upon  the  snow  in  the  vallev. 
thus  vividly  and  beautifully  exprcsseth  himself: 

"  Perhaps  the  vale 
Relents  a  while  to  the  rellected  raj'."t 

"  Every  hedge,"'  says  the  Tatler,  "  was  conscious  of  more 
than  what  the  representations  of  enamoured  swains  admit 
of. "J  Who  sees  not  how  much  of  their  energy  these  quota- 
tions owe  to  the  two  words  relents  and  conscious  ?  1  shall 
only  add,  that  it  is  the  same  kind  of  metaphor  which  hath 
brought  into  use  such  expressions  as  the  following :  a  happy 
period,  a  learned  age,  the  lliirsty  ground,  a  me/ancAti/y  disaster-. 

There  are  several  sorts  of  the  metonymy  which  answer 
the  same  purpose.  The  first  I  shall  mention  is  that  wherein 
the  inventor  is  made  to  denote  the  invention — Ceres,  for  in- 
stance, to  denote  bread,  Bacchus  wine.  Mars  war,  or  any  of 
the  j)agan  deities  to  denote  that  in  which  he  is  specially  in- 
terested, as  Neptune  the  sea,  Pluto  hell,  Pallas  wisdom,  and 
Venus  the  amorous  affection.  It  must  be  owned,  that  as  this 
kind  seems  even  by  the  ancients  to  have  been  confined  lo  the 
discoveries,  attributes,  or  dominions  ascribed  in  their  my  ihol- " 
ogy  to  the  gods,  it  is  of  little  or  no  use  to  us  moderns.^ 

Another  tribe  of  metonymies,  which  exhibits  things  living 
for  things  lifeless,  is  when  the  possessor  is  substituted  for 
his  possessions.  Of  this  we  have  an  example  in  the  Gospel : 
"  Wo  unto  you,  scribes  and  pharisees,  hypocrites,  for  ye  de- 
vour the  families  of  widows."     Here  the  word  families  is  u.sed 

*  Alinanzor.  t  Winter.  J  Tatler,  No.  7. 

"^  Even  when  such  tropes  occur  in  ancient  authors,  they  can  scarcely  be 
translated  into  any  modern  tongue,  as  was  hinted  in  Part  First,  in  regard 
to  the  phrase  "  Vario  Marte  pugnatum  est.'"  Another  example  of  the  same 
'iiing:,  "  Sine  Cerere  et  Baccho  friget  Venus." 


I 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  329 

for  their  means  of  subsistence.*  Like  to  tliisis  an  expres- 
sion in  Balaam's  prophecy  concerning  Israel :  "  lie  shall  eat 
up  tlie  Ha/;(,m.*-hi5--e^mies.'"f 

A  thintJ  tribe  of  irui^^ttymrGs,  which  often  presents  us  witli 
animatd-imrtTTnTt)!'  inanimate  objects,  is  when  the  concrete  is 
made  to  siguily  the  abstract;  as,  the  fool,  used  for  folly;  the 
knave,  for  knavery ;  ///'.■  philosopher,  for  philosophy.  1  shall 
illustrate  lliis  by  some  examples.  Dryden  hath  given  us  one 
of  this  kind  that  is  truly  excellent. 

"The  slavering  ciidden  propp'd  upon  the  staff, 
Stood  ready  jrainng  with  a  grinning  laugh, 
To  welcome  her  awake,  nortliirst  begin 
To  speak,  but  wisely  kept  the /oo/  within. "t 

The  whole  picture  is  striking.  The  proper  words,  every  one 
of  them,  are  remarkably  grapliical,  us  well  as  the  metonymy 
witli  which  the  passage  concludes.  Another  from  the  same 
hand : 

"  Who  follow  next  a  double  danger  bring. 
Not  only  hating  David,  but  the  king.''^ 

As  David  himself  was  king,  both  the  proper  name  and  the 
appellative  w'ould^oint  to  the  same  object,  were  they  to  be 
literally  interpreted.  But  the  opposition  here  exhibited  mani- 
festly shows  that  the  last  term,  the  lung,  is  employed  by  me- 
tonymy to  denote  the  royalty.  The  sense  therefore  is,  that 
they  have  not  only  a  personal  hatred  to  the  man  that  is  king, 
but  a  detestation  of  the  kingly  office.  A  trope  of  this  kind 
ought  never  to  be  introduced  but  when  the  contrast,  as  in  the 
present  example,  or  something  in  the  expression,  effectually 
removes  all  obscurity  and  danger  of  mistake.  In  the  pas- 
sage last  quoted,  there  is  an  evident  imitation  of  a  saying  re- 
corded by  historians  of  Alexander  the  Great  concerning  two 
of  his  courtiers,  Craterus  and  Hephajstion  :  "  Cratcnis,"  said 
he,  "  loves  the  /.inif,  but  Hephaestion  loves  Alexander.'''  Gro- 
tius  hath  also  copied  the  same  mode  of  expression,  in  a  re- 
mark which  he  hath  made,  perhaps  with  more  ingenuity  than 
truth,  on  the  two  apostles  Peter  and  John.  The  attachn\/cnt 
of  .John,  he  observes,  was  to  Jesus,  of  Peter  to  the  Mcssiah.\\ 
Accordingly,  their  master  gave  the  latter  the  charge  of  his 
church,  the  former  that  of  his  family,  recommending  to  him 

*  Matt.,  xxiii.,  14.  The  noun  oixiaj  may  be  rendered  either /am(7/f.«  or 
hottsrs.  The  last,  though  u=ed  by  our  translators,  hath  here  a  donlile  dis- 
advantage. First,  it  is  a  trope  formed  upon  a  trope  (which  rarely  haih  a 
good  eliect),the  Iwusr  for  the  family,  the  thing  containing  for  the  thmg  con- 
tained, and  the  fitmHi/  for  their  means  of  livmg;  secondly,  ideas  are  intro- 
duced which  are  incompalilile.  There  is  no'hing  improper  in  speaking  of 
a  person  or  family  being  devoured  :  but  to  talk  of  devouring  a  house  is  ab- 
surd.    It  may  be  destroyed,  demolished,  undermined,  hut  not  devoured 

+  Deut.,  xxiv.,  8.  t  Cymon  and  Ipliigenia. 

()  Absalom  and  Achitophcl.  |1  Annotations  in  Johan.  Intr. 

E  E  2 


330  THE    PHILOSOPHY   OP   RHETORIC. 

in  particular  the  care  of  Mary  his  mother.  The  following 
sentiment  of  Swift  is  somewhat  similar  : 

"  1  do  the  most  that  friendship  can  ; 
1  hate  the  vicktoij,  love  the  mat)," 

The  viceroy  for  the  viceroyalty.     I  shall  only  add  two  exam- 
ples more  in  this  way  :  the  first  is  from  Addison,  who,  speak- 
ing of  Tallard  when  laken  prisoner  by  the  allies,  says, 
'•  An  English  muse  is  touch'd  witli  generous  wo, 
And  in  ih'  unhappy  man  forgets  the  foe..'"* 

The  foe,  that  is,  his  state  of  hostility  with  regard  to  us  at  the 
time.     For  the  second  I  shall  again  recur  to  Dryden : 

"  A  tyrant's  power  in  rigour  is  express'tl, 
The  father  yearns  m  the  true  prince's  breast." 

The  father  to  denote  fatherly  affection,  or  the  disposition  of 
a  father.  In  fine,  it  may  be  jusily  affirmed  of  the  whole  class 
of  tropes,  that  as  metaphor  in  general  hath  been  termed  an 
allegory  in  epitome,  such  metaphor  and  metonymies  as  pre- 
sent us  with  things  animate  in  the  room  of  things  lifeless  are 
pro:?opopeias  in  miniature. 

But  it  will  be  proper  here  to  obviate  an  objection  against 
the  last-mentioned  species  of  metonymy, ^m  objection  which 
seems  to  arise  from  what  hath  been  advanced  above.  Is  it 
possible,  may  one  say,  that  the  concrete  put  for  the  abstract 
should  render  the  expression 'livelier,  and  that  the  abstract 
put  for  the  concrete  should  do  the  same]  Is  it  not  more 
natural  to  conclude  that,  if  one  of  these  tropes  serves  to  in- 
vigorate the  style,  the  reverse  must  doubtless  serve  to  flatten 
it  \  But  this  apparent  inconsistency  will  vanish  on  a  nearer 
inspection.  It  ought  to  be  remembered,  that  the  cases  are 
comparatively  few  In  which  either  trope  will  answer  better 
than  tlie  proper  term,  and  the  few  which  suit  the  one  method, 
and  the  few  which  suit  the  other,  are  totally  different  in  their 
nature.  To  ;itfirm  that  in  one  identical  case  methods  quite 
opposite  would  produce  the  same  effect,  might,  with  some 
appearance  of  reason,  be  charged  with  inconsistency ;  but 
that  in  cases  not  identical,  nor  even  similar,  contrary  meth- 
ods might  be  necessary  for  effecting  the  same  purpose,  is  no- 
wise inconsistent.  But  possibly  the  objector  will  argue  on 
the  principles  themselves  severally  considered,  from  which, 
according  to  the  doctrine  now  explained,  the  efficacy  of  the 
tropes  ariseth  :  "  If,"  says  he,  "  the  abstract  for  the  concrete 
confers  vivacity  on  the  expression,  by  concentrating  the 
whole  attention  on  that  particular  with  which  the  subject  is 
most  intimately  connected,  doth  it  not  lose  as  much  on  the 
other  hand,  by  presenting  us  with  a  quality  instead  of  a  per- 
son, an  intelligible  for  a  sensible,  an  inanimate  for  a  living 
object]"     If  this  were  the  effect,  the  objection  would  be  un- 

*  Campaign. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OP   RHETORIC.  331 

answerable.  But  it  is  so  far  otherwise,  that  in  all  such  in- 
stances, hy  ascribing  life,  motion,  human  aficctions,  and  ac- 
tions to  the  abstract,  it  is,  in  fact,  personified,  and  tluis  gains 
in  point  of  energy  the  one  way,  without  ]o^ing  anything  ilie 
other.  The  same  thing  iiolds  of  all  the  congenial  tropes,  tlio 
dole  for  the  donor,  and  the  rest.  In  like  maimer,  when  the 
concrete  is  used  for  the  abstract,  there  is,  in  the  first  place,  a 
real  personification,  '.he  subject  being,  in  fact,  a  mere  (juality 
both  inanimate  and  insensible  :  nor  do  we  lose  the  particu- 
larity implied  in  the  abstract,  because,  where  this  trope  is  ju- 
diciotisly  used,  there  must  be  something  in  the  sentence 
which  fi.xes  the  attention  specially  on  that  quality.  Thus,  to 
recur  to  the  preceding  examples,  when  David  and  the  king, 
though  known  to  be  the  same  person,  are  contradistinguish- 
ed in  the  same  line,  the  mind  is  laid  under  a  necessity  of  con- 
sidering tlie  word  /ciiig  as  implying  purely  that  which  consti- 
tutes him  such,  namely,  the  royal  power.  The  same  may  be 
said  of  the  other  instances.  So  far,  indeed,  I  agree  with  the 
objector,  that  wherever  the  trope  is  not  distinctly  marked 
with  the  words  with  which  it  is  connected,  it  is  faulty  and  in- 
judicious. It  both  misses  vivacity,  and  throws  obscurity  on 
the  sentiment. 

1  have  here  examined  the  tropes  so  far  only  as  they  are 
subservient  to  vivacity,  by  presenting  to  the  mind  some  im- 
age, which,  from  the  original  principles  of  our  nature,  more 
strongly  attaches  the  fancy  than  could  have  been  done  by 
the  proper  terms  whose  place  they  occupy.  And  in  this  ex- 
amination I  have  found  that  they  produce  this  effect  in  these 
four  cases  :  first,  when  they  c,\n  aptly  represent  a  species  by 
an  individual,  or  a  genus  by  a  species  ;  secondly,  when  they 
serve  to  fix  the  attention  on  the  most  interesting  particular, 
or  that  with  which  the  subject  is  most  intimately  cotmected  ; 
thirdly,  when  they  exhibit  things  intelligible  l)y  things  sensi- 
ble ;  and,  fourthly,  when  they  suggest  things  lifeless  by  things 
animate.  How  conducive  the  tropes  are,  m  like  manner,  both 
'to  elegance  and  to  animation,  will  be  examined  afterward. 
They  even  sometimes  conduce  to  vivacity,  not  from  anything 
prelerable  in  the  ideas  conveyed  by  them,  but  in  a  way  that 
cannot  properly  come  under  consideration  till  we  inquire  how 
far  this  quality  depends  on  the  number  of  the  words  and  on 
their  arrangement. 

Part  III.    The  Use  of  those  Tropes  which  are  Obstructive  to  Vi- 
\^  vacily. 

y\  Let  us  now,  ere  we  finish  this  article,  bestow  some  at^en- 
Ition  on  the  opposite  side  (for  contraries  serve  best  to  illus- 
trate each  other),  and  make  a  few  remarks  on  those  tropes 
which  either  have  a  natural  tendency  to  render  tiie  expres- 
sion more  languid,  or,  at  least,  are  nowav  fitted  for  enlivening 


332  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

the  diction.  That  there  are  tropes  whose  direct  tendency  is 
even  to  enfeeble  the  expression,  is  certainly  true,  though  they 
are  fewer  in  number,  and  more  rarely  nsed,lhan  those  which 
produce  the  contrary  eftect.  Tlie  principal  tropes  of  this 
kind  whicii  I  remcmljer  at  present  are  tin'ee  sorts  of  tlie  sy- 
nccduclie,  the  genus  for  the  species,  the  whole  for  apart,  and 
the  mailer  for  the  iiislrurnent  or  tiling  made  of  it,  and  some 
sorts  of  the  metaphor,  as  the  intelligible  for  the  sensible.  Of 
the  genus  for  the  species,  which  is  the  commonest  of  all,  ves- 
sel for  ship,  creature  or  animal  for  man,  w  ill  serve  as  exam- 
ples. Of  Itie  whole  for  a  part,  which  is  the  most  uncommon, 
I  do  not  recollect  another  instance  but  that  of  the  man  or 
woman  Ijy  name,  sometimes  for  the  body  only,  sometimes  only 
for  the  soul ;  as  when  we  say,  "  Such  a  one  was  buried  yes- 
terday," that  is,  "  The  body  of  such  a  one  was  buried  yes- 
terday." "  Jl^neas  saw  his  father  in  Elysium,"  that  is,  his  fa- 
ther's ghost.  The  common  phrase  "  all  the  world,"  for  a  great 
number  of  people,  and  some  others  of  the  same  kind,  liave 
also  been  produced  as  examples,  but  improperly  ;  for  in  <dl 
such  expressions  there  is  an  evident  hyperbole,  the  iuteiition 
being  manifestlj'  to  magnify  the  number.  Of  the  third  kind, 
the  matter  for  what  is  made  of  it,  there  are  doubtless  several 
instances,  such  as  silcer  for  money,  cara-uss  for  sail,  and  steel 
for  sword. 

It  is  proper  to  inquire  from  what  principles  in  our  nature 
tropes  of  this  sort  derive  their  origin,  and  what  are  the  pur- 
poses which  they  are  intended  to  promote.  The  answer  to 
the  first  of  these  queries  will  serve  elTectually  to  answer 
both.  First,  then,  tiiey  may  arise  merely  from  a  disposition 
to  vary  the  expression,  and  prevent  the  too  frequent  recur- 
rence of  tlie  same  sound  upon  the  ear.  Hence  often  the  ge- 
nus for  the  species.  This  is  the  more  pardonable  if  used 
moderately,  as  there  is. not  even  an  apparent  impropj'iety  in 
putting  at  any  lime  the  genus  for  the  species,  TJecause'the  lat- 
ter is  always  compreliended  in  the  former;  whereas,  in  the 
reverse,  there  is  inevitably  an  appearance  of  impropriety  till 
it  is  inoHified  by  use.  -If  one  in  speaking  of  a  linnet,  and 
sometimes  instead  oi  linnet  says  bird,  he  is  considered  rathei 
as  varying  the  expression  than  as  employing  a  trope.  Sec- 
ondly, they  may  arise  from  an  inclination  to  suggest  contempt 
wiihout  rudeness  ;  that  is,  not  openly  to  express,  but  indirect- 
ly to  insinuate  it.  Tlius,  v/hen  a  particular  man  is  called  a 
creature  or  an  animal,  there  is  a  sort  of  tacit  refusal  of  the 
specific  attributes  of  human  nature,  as  the  term  implies  onl-^ 
the  diri'ct  acknovvleflgment  of  those  enjoyed  in  common  wiih' 
the  brules,  or  even  wilii  the  whole  creation.  The  phrases  no 
creature  and  every  creature,  like  all  the  icorld,  are  a  kind  of  hy- 
perbolic idioms,  which  come  not  under  this  category.  Third- 
ly, they  may  proceed  from  a  love  of  brevity  in  cases  where- 
in perspicuity  cannot  be  hurt.     Thus  to  say, 


THE    rniLOSUPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  333 

"  Your  friend  Alexander  lies  here  interr'd," 
is  briefer,  and  not  less  perspicuous,  than  to  say,  "  The  corpse 
ol"  your  friend  Alexander — "  Fourthly,  they  inaj^  spring  from 
a  desire  to  find  a  term  that  will  make  a  better  counterpart,  ni 
respect  either  of  the  sense  or  of  tlic  sound,  to  some  otiier 
word  wliich  the  speaker  or  the  writer  hath  had  occasion  to 
use,  the  ideas  conveyed  by  the  two  words  being  also  related. 
This  occasions  sometimes  not  only  that  the  genns  is  used  for 
the  species,  but  that  the  matter  is  made  to  signify  tiio  thing 
made  of  it ;  both  of  which  will  be  farther  illustrated  when  I 
come  to  consider  how  far  vivacity  may  result  from  arrange- 
ment. Fifthly  (and  this  is  the  last  source  that  occurs  to  n.y 
thoughts),  tropes  of  tliis  kind  may  arise  from  a  desire  of  pal- 
liating the  representation,  and  that  either  from  humanity, 
from  courtesy,  or  from  decency. 

By  the  first  of  the  five  principles  above  mentioned,  if  used 
discreetly,  something  is  done  for  the  sake  of  variety  where 
the  vivacity  of  the  expression  is  little  afl'ected ;  by  the  sec- 
ond, even  a  farther  eufl,  a  species  of  animation,  is  attained ; 
by  the  third  and  fourtli,  what  i'S  lost  of  vivacity  in  one  way 
is  more  than  compensated  in  another  ;  but  by  the  fifth  we  are 
led  to  avoid  this  quality  as  a  fault. 

There  are  some  subjects  of  which  it  may  be  necessary  on 
certain  occasions  to  speak,  which,  nevertheless,  present  an 
object  to  the  imagination  that  is  either  disagreeable  or  inde- 
cent. It  is  sufficient  that  such  things  be  hinted  to  the  under- 
standing, so  that  the  meaning  mviy  be  apprehended;  it  is  by 
no  means  fit  that  they  be  painted  in  the  liveliest  colours  to 
the  fancy.  There  are  some  things  which  a  painter  may  find 
it  expedient  to  introduce  into  a  picture,  and  to  render  just  dis- 
coverable by  placing  them  in  the  shade,  in  the  background, 
or  at  a  corner,  which  it  would  be  extremely  improper  to  set 
in  such  a  point  of  view  as  would  immediately  attract  and  fix 
the  eye  of  the  spectator.  The  like  doubtless  holds  witli  re- 
gard to  the  orator.  And  it  hath  been  chiefly  to  veil,  without 
darkening,  what  the  smallest  degree  of  delicacy  requires  us 
to  avoid  exposing  in  the  strongest  light,  that  certain  sorts  of 
tropes  and  modes  of  expression  have  first  been  brought  into 
use.  To  the  same  cause  is  also  to  be  ascribed  the  recourse 
that  is  often  had  to  circumlocution,  which  will  fall  to  be  con- 
sidered in  the  ensuing  chapter. 

All  such  tropes  and  modes  of  expression  have  come  under 
ihecommondenomiiiafion  of  the  euphemism,  a  name  that  Iiatli 
been  assigned  purely  from  the  consideration  of  the  purpose 
for  which  they  are  employed  ;  which  is,  to  express  in  terms 
tluit  are  inoffensive  an  object  in  some  respect  or  other  oftVn- 
sive.  The  euphemism  is  not  a  distinct  trope  (as  it  hatli  im- 
properly been  accounted  by  some  critics),  but  a  certain  ap- 
plication of  other  tropes,  especially  of  metaphor  and  syuec 


S34  ,  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

doche,  and  even  of  some  of  the  figures  of  elocution,  the  peri- 
plirasis  in  particular.  Sometimes  we  are  led  to  ihis  from  a 
priiicipie  of  civility,  or  even  of  airectioii,  vvlien  thcr  plain  and 
direct  mention  of  an  object  might  either  recall  grief  or  hurt 
sensibility,  and  sometimes  from  ideas  of  decorum. 

It  is  by  a  euphemism  that  the  words  deceased  and  departed 
came  at  first  to  be  used  instead  of  dead,  which  is  no  oilier 
than  a  synecdoche  of  the  genus  for  the  species  ;  falling  asleep 
for  dying,  which  is  a  metaphor,  there  being  an  evident  resem- 
blance between  sleep  and  death;  and  stopping  pai/menl  {or  be- 
coming hankrupl,  which  is  a  metonymy  of  the  effect  for  the 
cause.  There  is,  indeed,  in  employing  this  figure,  the  eu- 
phemism, more  thft^n  in  any  other,  a  natural  tendency  to 
change.  The  reason  may  easily  be  deduced  from  the  gen- 
eral doctrine  concerning  tropes,  explained  in  the  first  part  of 
this  section.  The  frequent  use  of  any  word  in  this  manner 
brings  it  insensibly  to  have  all  the  effect  of  the  proper  term 
whose  place  it  was  intended  to  supply;  no  sooner  is  this  ef- 
fect produced  by  it,  than  the  same  principle  that  influenced 
us  at  first  to  employ  it,  operates  with  equal  strength  in  influ- 
encing us  to  lay  it  aside,  and  in  its  stead  to  adopt  something 
newer  and  still  more  remote.  The  excessive  delicacy  of  the 
P'rench  in  this  respect  hath  given  rise  to  expressions  which 
it  would  not  be  easy  to  trace,  from  anj'  know  n  trope  or  figure 
of  oratory,  and  which,  to  say  the  truth,  have  something  ri- 
diculous lu  their  appearance.  Thus  a  disbanded  regiment  is 
with  them  a  reformed  regiment ;  a  cashiered  officer  is  a  reform- 
ed officer;  and  a  man  is  said  to  reform  his  equipage  when  ne- 
cessity obliges  him  to  give  it  up ;  even  the  hangman,  through 
the  superabundance  of  their  complaisance,  is  titled  the  master 
of  the  high  ivorhs*  In  the  use  of  this  figure  among  the  an- 
cients, superstition  in  regard  to  some  words  which  were 
thought  to  be  of  bad  omen,  seems  to  have  had  as  great  a 
share  as  either  a  delicate  sympathy  with  the  feelings  of  oth- 
ers, or  a  very  nice  sense  of  what  is  decent  and  cleanly. 

As  to  the  nature  and  extent  of  the  last  source  which  was 
assigned  of  the  euphemism,  it  will  be  proper  to  be  a  little 
more  particular.  Those  things  which  it  is  indecent  to  ex- 
press vividly  are  always  such  as  are  conceived  to  have  some 
turpitude  in  them,  either  natural  or  moral.  An  example  of 
this  decency  in  expression,  where  the  subject  hath  some  natu- 
ral turpitude,  you  will  find  in  Martha's  answer,  as  it  is  in  the 
original,  when  our  Saviour  gave  orders  to  remove  the  stone 
from  the  sepulchre  of  her  brother  Lazarus :  "  Lord,  by  this 
time  he  smeUeth,  for  he  hath  been  dead  four  daj^s.''!  In  our 
version  it  is  somewhat  indelicately,  not  to  say  indecently, 
rendered  simketh.    Our  translators  have  in  this  instance  un- 

•  Le  maitre  des  hautes  ceuvres.  t  John,  xi.  3D,  ^i;  pjj/. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  385 

necpssarily  rr-cedod  from  their  ordinary  rule  of  keeping  as 
close  as  possible  to  the  letter.  The  synecdoeiie  in  this  place 
answers  just  as  well  in  Kiiglish  as  in  Greek  ;  tlie  perspicuity 
is  such  as  secnres  the  reader  from  the  possibility  of  a  mis- 
take, at  the  saiiK!  lime  that  the  expression  is  free  from  the  in- 
decency with  which  the  other  is  chargeable.  But  if  it  be  ne- 
cessary to  avoid  a  vivid  exhibition  of  wiiat  appears  imcleanly 
to  the  external  senses,  it  is  mncli  more  necessary  in  what- 
ever may  have  a  tendency  to  pollute  the  mind.  It  is  not  al- 
ways the  mention  of  vice,  as  such,  which  has  this  tendency. 
Many  of  the  most  atrocious  crimes  may  be  mentioned  with 
great  plainness  without  any  such  danger,  and  therefore  with- 
out the  smallest  indecorum.  What  the  subjects  are  which 
are  in  this  way  dangerous,  it  is  surely  needless  to  explain  ; 
and  as  every  person  of  sense  will  readily  conceive  the  truth 
of  the  general  sentiment,  to  propose  without  iiecessity  to 
produce  examples  for  the  elucidation  of  it  might  justly  be 
charged  with  being  a  breach  of  that  decency  of  which  I  am 
treating. 

So  much  for  the  use  that  may  be  made  of  tropes  in  soften- 
ing and  even  enervating,  as  well  as  in  enlivening  and  invigo- 
rating the  expression,  though  it  must  be  owned  that  the  oc- 
casions are  comparatively  few  on  which  the  former  purpose 
can  be  said  to  be  ex[)edient. 

I  shall  only  add  a  few  remarks  concerning  the  catachresis, 
which  hath,  in  like  manner,  been  improperly  reckoned  a  sep- 
arate trope.  The  reason  that  I  have  taken  no  notice  of  it  hilli- 
erlo  is,  that  it  is  but  rarely  defensible  in  modern  languages, 
which  require  the  strictest  regard  to  propriety  ;  and  even  in 
he  few  cases  wherein  it  is  defensible,  it  is  j)nrely  so  because 
necessary  ;  but  is  seldom  eligible,  as  it  rarely  contributes  ei- 
ther to  ornament  or  to  strength.  1  shall  explain  myself  by 
some  instances. 

One  species  of  the  catachresis  is  when  words  are  used  in 
a  signification  that  is  very  near  their  ordinary  meaning,  but 
not  precisely  the  same.  Examples  of  this  would  l)e  a  /lig/i 
man  for  a  tail  man,  a  large  oration  for  a  long  oration,  a  oig  ge- 
nius, for  li  great  genius.  This,  if  anything,  would  be  classed 
under  the  metaphor,  as  there  is  a  resemblance  in  the  import 
of  the  words.  Unluckily,  tiie  word  adopted  is  too  near  a  co- 
iiicidence  with  the  right  epithet  to  present  an  image  to  the 
fancy,  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  not  entirely  coincident,  and 
therefore  cannot  be  denominated  a  proper  term.  In  this  ap- 
plication the  name  catachresis  is  no  more  than  another  word 
for  impropriety.  Of  tiiis  kind  there  is  an  example  in  the  fifth 
commandment,  as  it  runs  in  our  version  "  that  thy  days  may 
be  long  (Anglicc,  inumj)  upoii  the  land."*    It  U  impossible  to 

♦  Esod.,  XX 


336  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

avoid  such  blunders  in  translating,  when  one  aims  at  be- 
ing literal,  without  attending  to  the  different  geniuses  of  dif- 
ferent tongues.  In  original  performances,  they  are  more  rare- 
ly to  be  met  with,  being  just  sucli  improprieties  as  none  but 
novices  in  the  language  are  apt  to  fall  into. 

A  second  species  of  this  figure  is  when  words  vv^hich,  from 
their  etymology,  appear  to  be  api)licable  solely  to  one  kind 
of  thing,  come  afterward  to  be  applied  to  another,  which  is 
nearly  related  in  its  nature  or  design,  but  with  which,  never- 
theless, the  analysis  of  tlie  word  will  not  accord.  This  is 
sometimes  not  only  excusable  from  necessity,  as  when  the 
language  doth  not  iurnish  a  proper  term,  but  sometimes  also 
receives  the  sanction  of  general  use  ;  and  in  this  case,  what- 
ever it  was  originally,  it  becomes  proper.  I  shall  give  some 
examples  of  this  in  our  own  tongue.  As  it  is  probable  that 
among  our  Saxon  ancestors  candle  holders  were  solely  made 
of  wood,  they  were  properly  denominated  candlesticks ;  after- 
ward, when,  through  an  increase  of  wealth  and  luxury,  such 
utensils  were  made  of  metal,  the  old  name  was  nevertheless 
retained,  and  at  first,  by  a  catachresis,  applied  to  these.  But 
the  application  is  now  "ratified,  and  the  word  appropriated  by 
custom.  The  name  inhhorn,  denoting  a  portable  case  for  hold- 
ing ink,  probably  at  first  made  only  of  hern,  is  a  similar  in- 
stance. In  like  manner,  the  word  parricide  in  English,  like 
parricida  in  Latin,  at  first  perhaps  signified  only  the  murderer 
of  his  father,  but  hath  come  to  be  equally  applied  to  him  who 
murders  his  mother,  his  brother,  or  his  sister.  In  all  these 
instances  there  was  an  excuse  at  first  from  necessity,  the 
language  not  affording  words  strictly  proper;  but  now,  hav- 
ing obtained  the  universal  suffrage,  which  in  every  country 
gives  law  to  language,  they  need  no  excuse.  There  is  an  in- 
stance of  a  catachresis  of  this  kind  in  our  translation  of  the 
Bible,  which  (not  being  supported  by  the  plea  of  necessity) 
ought  to  be  considered  as  a  glaring  impropriety  :  "  He  made 
tlie  laver  of  brass,  and  the  foot  of  it  of  brass,  of  the  look- 
ing-glasses of  the  womeli.''*  It  is,  however,  probable  that  the 
word  mirror  was  not  in  such  common  use  then  as  it  is  now. 
There  are  a  few  phrases  which  come  under  the  same  denom- 
ination, and  which,  though  favoured  by  custom,  being  quite 
unnecessary,  deserve  to  be  exploded.  Such,arnong  others,  are 
the  following :  the  ivorkmanship  of  God  for  the  work  of  God^; 
a  man-of-war  for  a  ship  of  loar ;  and  a  merchantman  for  a  tra- 
ding vessel.  The  absurdity  in  the  last  two  instances  is  com- 
monly augmented  by  the  words  connected  in  the  sequel,  in 
wiiich.by  the  application  of  the  pronouns  she  and  her.  v.'e  are 
made  to  understand  that  the  man  spoken  of  is  a  female.  1 
think  this  gibberish  ought  to  be  left  entirely  to  mariners, 
among  v.hom,  I  suppose,  it  hath  originated, 

*  Exod.,  xKxviii.,  8. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF   RHETOHIC.  337 

I'hc.  only  remaining  species  of  the  catachrcsis  which  I  can 
recollect  at  present  is  no  other  than  a  far-fetched  and  incon- 
gruous metaphor.  Nothing  can  more  justly  be  reduced  un- 
der this  class  than  the  application  of  the  attributes  of  one  cor 
poreal  sense  to  the  objects  of  another ;  as  if  we  should  say 
of  a  voice  that  it  is  beautiful  to  the  ear,  or  of  a  face  that  it  is 
melodious  to  the  eye.  Nothing  succeeds  better,  as  hath  tten 
observed  already,  than  metaphors  taken  from  the  objects  of 
sensation,  to  denote  the  objects  of  pure  intellection  ;  yet  no- 
thing generally  succeeds  worse  than  metaphors  that  are  only 
transferred  fi-om  sense  to  sense.  I  say  generally,  because 
such  is  the  omnipotence  of  fashion  in  respect  of  language 
that  it  is  capable  of  conciliating  us  even  to  such  applications. 
Thus  the  term  sioeet  belongs  properly  to  the  sense  of  tasting 
alone  ;  yet  it  hath  been  transferred  to  the  sense  of  smelling, 
of  hearing,  and  of  seeing.  We  say  a  sweet  scent,  sioeet  mel- 
ody, a  sweet  prospect.  The  word  soft,  in  like  manner,  be- 
longed originally  to  the  sense  of  touching,  and  to  it  only  ;  yet 
it  hath  been  applied  metaphorically,  and  (as  we  learn  by  the 
event)  successfully,  to  other  senses.  Thus  we  talk  of  a  soft 
whisper,  and  Pope  speaks  of  the  soft-eyed  virgin.  Customary 
applications  at  length  become  proper,  though  they  do  not  ex- 
hibit the  primitive  sense.  For  this  reason,  several  of  the 
aforesaid  instances  are  not  to  be  considered  at  present  as  ex- 
amples of  the  catachresis.  Sometimes,  however,  even  a  new 
catachresis  of  the  last-mentioned  kind,  which  is  the  most 
hazardous,  will  please  the  most  fastidious  critic.  Take  the 
following  example  from  Young  : 

"  Her  voice  is  but  the  shadow  of  a  sound."* 

The  reason  of  our  approbation  in  this  case  is,  if  I  mistake  not, 
that  an  illusion  or  comparison  is  suggested  which  exhibits 
more  strongly  the  author's  meaning  than  it  could  have  been 
exhibited  by  any  other  words  in  the  same  compass.  The  sen- 
timent is,  that  the  same  relation  which  the  shadow  bears  to 
the  substance  of  which  it  is  the  shadow,  the  lady's  voice  bears 
to  an  ordinary  sound. 

Having  now  discussed  vrhat  was  proposed  here  concern- 
ing tropes,  I  shall  conclude  with  observing  that,  in  this  dis- 
cussion, there  hath  been  occasion,  as  it  were,  incidentally  to 
discover,  that  they  are  so  far  from  being  the  inventions  of 
art,  that,  on  the  contrary,  they  result  from  the  original  and 
essential  principles  of  the  human  mind ;  that,  accordingly, 
they  are  the  same,  upon  the  main,  in  all  nations,  barbarous 
and  civilized  ;  that  the  simplest  and  most  ancient  tongues  do 
most  abound  with  them,  the  natural  effect  of  improvement  in 
science  and  language,  which  commonly  go  together,  being  to 
•egulate  the  fancy  and  to  restrain  the  passions ;  that  the  sole 

•  Universal  Passion. 
F    F 


u 


338  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

business  of  art  m  this  subject  is  to  range  the  several  tropes 
and  figures  into  classes,  to  distinguish  them  by  names,  and 
to  trace  the  principles  in  the  mind  which  gave  them  birth. 

The  first,  indeed,  or,  rather,  the  only  people  upon  the  earth 
who  have  thought  of  classing  under  proper  appellations  the 
numerous  tropes  and  figures  of  elocution,  common  to  all 
languages,  were  the  Greeks.  The  Latins,  and  all  modern 
nations,  have  in  this  particular  only  borrowed  from  them, 
adopting  the  y£]^-»affles  they  4ised — JBut^s  to  the  tracing 
of  those  figures  to  the  springs  in  human  nature  from  which 
they  flow,  extre.mely  little  hath  as  yet  been  attempted.  Nay, 
he  names  that  have  been  given  are  but  few,  and,  by  conse- 
quence, very  generical.  Each  class,  the  metaphor  and  the 
metonymy  in  particular,  is  capable  of  being  divided  into  sev- 
eral tribes,  to  which  no  namefc  have  yet  been  assigned. 

It  was  affirmed  that  the  tropes  and  figures  of  eloquence  are 
found  to  be  the  same,  upon  the  main,  in  all  ages  and  nations. 
The  words  upon  the  main  were  added,  because,  though  the 
most  and  the  principal  of  them  are  entirely  the  same,  there 
are  a  few  which  presuppose  a  certain  refinement  of  thought 
not  natural  to  a  rude  and  illiterate  people.  Such,  in  particu- 
lar, is  that  species  of  the  metonymy,  the  concrete  for  the  ab- 
stract, and  possibly  some  others.  We  shall  afterward,  per- 
haps, have  occasion  to  remark,  that  the  modern  improve- 
ments in  ridicule  have  given  rise  to  some  which  cannot  prop- 
erly be  ranged  under  any  of  the  classes  above  mentioned,  to 
which,  therefore,  no  name  hath  as  yet  been  appropriated, 
and  of  which  I  am  not  sure  whether  antiquity  can  furnish  us 
with  an  example. 

SECTION  III. 

WORDS    CONSIDERED    AS    SO0NDS. 

When  I  entered  on  the  consideration  of  vivacity  as  depend- 
ing on  the  choice  of  words,  I  observed  that  the  words  may  be 
either  proper  terms  or  rhetorical  tropes  ;  and  whether  the  one 
or  the  other,  they  may  be  regarded  not  only  as  signs,  but  as 
sounds,  and,  consequently,  as  capable,  in  certain  cases,  of 
bearing,  in  some  degree,  a  natural  resemblance  or  affinity  to 
the  things  signified.  The  first  two  articles,  proper  terms  and 
rhetorical  tropes,  I  have  discussed  already,  regarding  only  the 
sense  and  application  of  the  words,  whether  used  literally  or 
figuratively.  It  remains  now  to  consider  them  in  regard  to 
the  sound,  and  the  affinity  to  the  subject  of  which  the  sound 
is  susceptible.  When,  as  Pope  expresseth  it,  "  the  sound  is 
made  an  echo  to  the  sense,"*  there  is  added,  in  a  certain  de- 
gree, to  the  association  arising  from  custom,  the  influence  of 
resemblance  between  the  signs  and  the  things  signified,  and 
*  Essay  on  Criticism. 


THE    rillLOSOPIIY    OF    RHETORIC.  339 

this  doubtless  tends  to  strengthen  the  impression  made  by  the 
discourse.  This  subject,  I  acknowledge,  hath  been  vwy  much 
canvassed  by  critics;  I  shall  therefore  be  the  briefer  in  my 
remarks,  confining  myself  chiefly  to  the  two  following  points. 
First,  I  shall  inquire  what  kinds  of  things  language  is  capable 
of  imitating  by  its  sound,  and  in  what  degree  it  is  capable  ; 
secondly,  what  rank  ought  to  be  assigned  to  this  species  of 
excellence,  and  in  what  cases  it  ought  to  be  attempted. 

Part  I.   What  are  Articulale  Sounds  capable  of  Imitating,  and 
in  what  Degree  ? 

First,  I  shall  inquire  what  kinds  of  things  language  is  ca- 
pable of  imitating  by  its  sound,  and  in  what  degree  it  is 
capable. 

And  here  it  is  natural  to  think  that  the  imitative  power  of 
language  must  be  greatest  when  the  subject  itself  is  things 
audible.  One  sound  may  surely  have  a  greater  reseml)lance 
to  another  sound  than  it  can  have  to  anything  of  a  dilTerent 
nature.  In  the  description,  therefore,  of  the  terrible  thunder, 
whirlwind,  and  tempest,  or  of  the  cooling  zephyr  and  the  gen- 
tle gale,  or  of  any  other  thing  that  is  sonorous,  the  imitation 
that  may  be  made  by  the  sound  of  the  description  will  cer- 
tainly be  more  perfect  than  can  well  be  expected  in  what 
concerns  things  purely  intelligible,  or  visible,  or  tangible. 
Yet  even  here  the  resemblance,  if  we  consider  it  abstractly, 
is  very  faint. 

The  human  voice  is  doubtless  capable  of  imitating,  to  a 
considerable  degree  of  exactness,  almost  any  sound  what- 
ever. But  our  present  inquiry  is  solely  about  what  may  l)e 
imitated  by  articulate  sounds,  for  articulation  greatly  confines 
the  natural  powers  of  the  voice  ;  neither  do  we  inquire  what 
an  extraordinary  pronunciation  may  eflectuate,  but  what 
power  in  this  respect  the  letters  of  the  alphabet  have  when 
combined  into  syllables,  and  these  into  words,  and  these  again 
into  sentences,  uttered  audibly,  indeed,  and  distinctly,  but 
without  any  uncommon  eflbrt.  Nay,  the  orator,  in  this  spe- 
cies of  imitation,  is  still  more  limited.  He  is  not  at  liberty 
to  select  whatever  articulate  sounds  he  can  find  to  be  fittest 
for  imitating  those  concerning  which  he  is  discoursing.  That 
he  may  be  understood,  he  is  under  a  necessity  of  confining 
himself  to  such  sounds  as  are  rendered  by  use  the  signs  of 
the  things  he  would  suggest  by  them.  If  there  be  a  variety 
of  these  signs,  which  commonly  cannot  be  great,  he  hath 
some  scope  for  selection,  hut  not  otherwise.  Yet  so  remote 
is  the  resemblance  here  at  best,  that  in  no  language,  ancient 
or  modern,  are  the  meanings  of  any  words,  except,  perhaps, 
those  expressing  llie  cries  of  some  animai.s,  discoveVable, 
on  the  bare  hearing,  to  one  who  doth  not  understand  the  laa 
guage. 


340  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

Indeed,  when  the  subject  is  articulate  sound,  the  speaker  or 
the  writer  may  do  more  than  produce  a  resemblance ;  he 
may  even  render  the  expression  an  example  of  that  which  he 
affirms.  Of  this  kind  precisely  are  the  last  three  lines  of  the 
following  quotation  from  Pope  : 

"  These  equal  syllables  alone  require, 
Though  oh  the  ear  the  open  vowels  tire, 
While  expletives  their  feeble  aid  do  join, 
Arid  ten  low  words  oft  creep  in  one  dull  line."* 

But  this  manner,  which,  it  must  be  owned,  hath  a  very  good 
effect  in  enlivening  the  expression,  is  not  imitation,  though  it 
hath  sometimes  been  mistaken  for  it,  or,  rather,  confounded 
with  it. 

As  to  sounds  inarticulate,  a  proper  imitation  of  them  hath 
been  attempted  in  the  same  piece,  in  the  subsequent  lines, 
and  with  tolerable  success,  at  least  in  the  concluding  couplet : 

"  Soft  is  the  strain  when  Zephyr  gently  blows, 
A.nd  the  smooth  stream  in  smoother  numbers  flows ; 
But  when  loud  surges  lash  the  sounding  shore, 
The  hoarse  rough  verse  should  like  the  torrent  roar."t 

An  attempt  of  the  same  kind  of  conformity  of  the  sound  to 
the  sense  is  perhaps  but  too  discernible  in  the  following  quo- 
tation from  the  same  author  : 

"  O'er  all  the  dreary  coasts  • 
Dreadful  gleams, 
Dismal  screams, 
Fires  that  glow. 
Shrieks  of  wo, 
Sullen  moans, 
Hollow  groans. 
And  cries  of  injured  ghosts."t 

Milton's  description  of  the  opening  of  hell-gates  ought  not 

here  to  be  overlooked  : 

"  On  a  sudden  open  fly, 
With  impetuous  recoil  and  jarring  sound, 
Th'  infernal  doors,  and  on  their  hinges  grate 
Harsh  thunder — "^ 

The  same  author  has,  in  another  performance,  given  an  ex- 
cellent specimen  in  this  way  : 

"  Grate  on  their  scrannel  pipes  of  wretched  straw."!] 

He  succeeds  the  better  here,  that  what  he  says  is  evidently 
accompanied  with  a  design  of  exciting  contempt.  This  in- 
duceth  us  to  make  allowance  for  his  leaving  the  beaten  road 
in  search  of  epithets.     In  this  passage  of  the  Odyssey, 

*  Essay  on  Criticism.  t  Ibid. 

I  .Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day.  ^  Paradise  Lost,  b.  iL 

II  Lycidas.    An  imitation  of  a  line  of  Virgil,  Eel.  lii. : 

'■  Stridenti  miserum  stipula  disperdere  carmen." 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC.  341 

"  His  bloody  hand 
Snatch'd  two  unhappy  of  my  martial  band, 
And  dash'd  like  dogs  against  the  stony  floor,* 

the  sound,  but  not  the  abruptness  of  the  crash,  is,  I  imagine 
better  imitated  than  in  the  original,  which  on  account  of  both, 
especially  the  last,  was  much  admired  by  the  critic  of  Hali- 
carnassus.  An  excellent  attempt  in  this  way  we  have  in  a 
poem  by  Dyer : 

"  The  Pilgrim  oft 

At  dead  of  night,  mid  his  orison,  hears 

Aghast  the  voice  of  time,  disparting  towers. 

Tumbling  all  precipitous  down-dash'd. 

Rattling  around,  loud  thundering  to  the  moon."t 

But  the  best  example  to-be  found  in  our  language  is,  in  my 
opinion,  the  following  lines  of  Mr.  Pope  : 

"What !  like  Sir  Richard,  rumbling,  rough,  and  fierce. 

With  arms,  and  George,  and  Brunswick  crowd  the  verse, 

Rend  with  tremendous  sounds  your  ears  asunder. 

With  drum,  gun,  trumpet,  blunderbuss,  and  thunder? 

Then  all  your  muse's  softer  art  display, 

Let  Carolina  smooth  the  tuneful  lay, 

Lull  with  Amelia's  liquid  name  the  nine. 

And  sweetly  flow  through  all  the  royal  line."f 

The  success  here  is  the  greater,  that  the  author  appears 
through  the  whole  to  deride  the  immoderate  affectation  ol 
this  overrated  beauty,  with  which  some  modern  poetasters 
are  so  completely  dazzled.  On  the  whole,  the  specimens 
produced,  though  perhaps  as  good  as  any  of  the  kind  extant 
in  our  language,  serve  to  evince  rather  how  little  than  how 
much  can  be  done  in  this  way,  and  how  great  scope  there  is 
here  for  the  fancy  to  influence  the  judgment. 

But  there  are  other  subjects  besides  sound  to  which  lan- 
guage is  capable  of  bearing  some  resemblance.     Time  and 
motion,  for  example,  or  whatever  can  admit  the  epithets  oi 
quick  and  slow,  is  capable,  in  some  degree,  of  being  imitated    N^ 
by  speech.     In  language  there  are  long  and  short  syllables, 
one  of  the  fbtm«^i"  being  equal  or  nearly  equal  to  two  of  the      ';  ^ 
latter.     As  these  may  be  ^TH-ioysly  combined  in  a  sentence,        \ 
and  syllables  of  either  kind  may  Be  made  more  or  less  to  pre- 
dominate, the  sentence  may  be  rendered  by  the  sound  more 
or  less  expressive  of  celerity  or  tardiness.     And  though  even 
here  the  power  of  speech  seems  to  be  much  limited,  there  be- 
ing but  two  degrees  in  syllables,  whereas  the  natural  degrees 
of  quickness  or  slowness  in  motion  or  action  may  be  infinite- 
ly varied,  yet  on  this  subject  the  imitative  power  of  articu- 
late sound  seems  to  be  greater  and  more  distinctive  than  on 

*■  Pope's  Od.    In  Homer  thus . 

K6ttt'  " 

t  Ruins  of  Rome,  Dodsley's  Collection,  vol.  i.  t  Sat.  i. 

F  p  2 


342  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

any  other.  This  appears  to  particular  advantage  in  verse, 
when,  without  violating  the  rules  of  prosody,  a  greater  or  a 
less  number  of  syllables  is  made  to  suit  the  time.  Take  the 
following  example  from  Milton  : 

"  When  the  merry  bells  ring  round, 

And  the  jocund  rebecs  sound 

To  many  a  youth  and  many  a  maid 

Dancing  in  the  checker'd  shade."* 

In  this  passage  the  third  line,  though  consisting  often  sylla- 
bles, is.  by  means  of  two  anapaests,  pronounced,  without 
hurting  the  measure,  in  the  same  time  with  an  iambic  line  of 
eight  syllables,  and  therefore  well  adapted  in  sound  to  the 
airy  diversion  he  is  describing.  At  the  same  time,  it  must  be 
owned  that  some  languages  have,  in  this  particular,  a  re- 
markable superiority  over  others.  In  English  the  iambic 
verse,  which  is  the  commonest,  admits  here  and  there  the  in- 
sertion of  a  spondee  for  protracting,  or  of  an  anapaest,  as  in  the 
example  quoted,  for  quickening  the  expression.! 

But,  in  my  opinion,  Greek  and  Latin  have  here  an  advan- 
tage, at  least  in  their  heroic  measure,  over  all  modern  tongues. 
Accordingly,  Homer  and  Virgil  furnish  us  with  some  excel- 
lent specimens  in  this  way.  But  that  we  may  know  what 
our  own  tongue  and  metre  is  capable  of  effecting,  let  us  re- 
cur to  our  own  poets,  and  first  of  all  to  the  celebrated  trans- 
lator of  the  Grecian  bard.  I  have  made  choice  of  him  the 
rather  as  he  was  perfectly  sensible  of  this  beauty  in  the  origi- 
nal which  he  copied,  and  endeavoured,  as  much  as  the  ma- 
terials he  had  to  work  upon  would  permit  him,  to  exhibit  it 
in  his  version.  Let  us  take  for  an  example  the  punishment 
of  Sisyphus  in  the  other  world,  a  passage  which  had  on  this 
very  account  been  much  admired  in  Homer  by  all  the  critics 
both  ancient  and  modern. 

"  Up  the  high  hill  he  heaves  a  huge  round  stone  ; 
The  huge  round  stone  resulting  with  a  bound, 
Thunders  impetuous  down,  and  smokes  along  the  ground."t 

*  L'Allegro. 

t  Perhaps  the  feet  employed  in  ancient  poetry  are  not,  in  strict  propriety, 
apphcable  to  the  measures  adopted  by  the  English  prosody.  It  is  not  my 
business  at  present  to  enter  into  this  curious  question.  It  suffices  that  I 
think  there  is  a  rhythmus  in  our  verse  plainly  discernible  by  the  ear,  and 
which,  as  it  at  least  bears  some  analogy  to  the  Greek  and  Latin  feet,  makes 
this  application  of  their  names  sufficiently  intelligible. 

t  In  Greek  thus : 

"  Aaav  3.via  SiQtoKS  ttotX  \6(pov — 
A^rif  Irei-na  ttcSovSc  Kv\tvS^TO  Xaas  dvaiSfji" — Od. 

In  Latin  verse,  Vida,  in  his  An  of  Poetry,  hath  well  exemplified  this  beauty, 
from  his  great  master,  Virgil : 

"  lUe  autem  inembris,  ac  mole  ignavius  ingens 
Incedit  tardo  molimine  subsidendo." 
Here  not  only  the  frequency  of  the  spondees,  but  the  difficulty  of  forming 
tW.  ehsions  ;  above  all.  the  spondee  in  the  fifth  root  of  the  second  line  in- 


THE  niTLosoniY  of  rhetoric.  343 

It  is  remarkalilo  that  Homer  (tlioiigli  greatly  preferable  to 
his  translator  in  both)  hath  sifccceded  best  in  describing  the 
fall  of  the  stone,  Pope  in  relating  how  it  was  heaved  up  the 
hill.  The  success  of  the  English  poet  here  is  not  to  be  as- 
cribed entirely  to  the  length  of  the  syllables,  but  partly  to  an- 
other cause,  to  be  explained  afterward. 

I  own  I  do  not  approve  the  expedient  which  this  admirable 
versifier  hath  used,  of  introducing  an  Alexandrine  line  for  ex- 
pressing rapidity.  I  entirely  agree  with  Johnson,*  that  this 
kind  of  measure  is  rather  stately  than  swift ;  yet  our  poet 
hath  assigned  this  last  quality  as  the  reason  of  his  choice. 
"  I  was  too  sensiiile,"  says  he,  in  the  margin,  "  of  the  beauty 
of  this,  not  to  endeavour  to  imitate  it,  though  unsuccessfully.  I 
have,.therefore,  thrown  it  into  the  swiftness  of  an  Alexandrine, 
to  make  it  of  a  more  proportionable  number  of  syllables  with 
the  Greek."  Ay,  but  to  resemble  in  length  is  one  thing,  and 
to  resemble  in  swiftness  is  another.  The  difference  lies  here  : 
in  Greek,  an  hexameter  verse,  whereof  all  the  feet  save  one 
are  dactyls,  though  it  hath  several  syllables  more,  is  pro- 
nounced in  the  sai:ne  time  with  an  hexameter  verse  whereof 
all  the  feet  save  oiie  are  spondees,  and  is,  therefore,  a  just 
emblem  of  velocity  ;  that  is,  of  moving  a  great  way  in  a  short 
time ;  whereas  the  Alexandrine  line,  as  it  consists  of  more 
syllables  than  the  common  English  heroic,  requires  propor- 
tionably  more  time  to  the  pronunciation.  For  this  reason, 
the  same  author,  in  another  work,  has,  I  think,  with  better 
success,  made  choice  of  this  very  measure  to  exhibit  slow- 
ness : 

"A  needless  Alexandrine  ends  the  song, 
That,  like  a  wounded  snake,  drags  its  slow  length  along."! 

It  deserves  our  notice,  that  in  this  couplet  he  seems  to  give 
it  as  his  opinion  of  the  Alexandrine,  that  it  is  a  dull  and  tar- 
dy measure.  Yet,  as  if  there  were  no  end  of  his  inconsistency 
on  this  subject,  he  introduceth  a  line  of  the  same  kind  a  little 
after  in  the  same  piece,  to  represent  uncommon  speed  : 
"  Not  so  when  swift  Camilla  scours  the  plain. 
Flies  o'er  th'  unbending  corn,  and  skims  along  the  main."+ 

A  most  wonderful  and  peculiar  felicity  in  this  measure,  to  be 
alike  adapted  to  imitate  the  opposite  qualities  of  swiftness 
and  slowness.     Such  contradictions  would  almost  tempt  one 

stead  of  a  dactyl,  greatly  retard  the  motion.    For  the  contrary  expression 

of  speed,  • 

''  Si  ec  forte  cava  extulerit  mala  vipera  terra, 
Tolle  moras,  cape  saxa  manu,  cape  robora,  pastor, 
Ferte  citi  flammas,  date  tela,  repellite  pestem." 

Here  everything  concurs  to  accelerate  the  motion,  the  number  of  dactyls, 

no  eHsion,  no  diphthong,  no  concurrence  of  consonants,  \inless  where  a  long 

syllable  is  necessary,  and  even  there  the  consonants  of  easy  pronunciation. 

*  Rambler,  No.  82.  t  Essay  on  Criticism.  t  Ibid. 


344  THE     PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

to  suspect  that  this  species  of  resemblance  is  imaginary  al- 
together. Indeed,  the  fitness  of  the  Alexandrine  to  express, 
in  a  certain  degree,  the  last  of  these  qualities,  may  be  allow- 
ed, and  is  easily  accounted  for.  But  no  one  would  ever  have 
dreamed  of  its  fitness  for  the  first  who  had  not  been  misled 
by  an  erroneous  conclusion  from  the  eifect  of  a  very  differ- 
ent measure,  Greek  and  Latin  hexameter.  Yet  Pope  is  not 
the  only  one  of  our  poets  who  hath  fallen  into  this  error. 
Dryden  hath  preceded  him  in  it,  and  even  gone  much  farther. 
Not  satisfied  with  the  Alexandrine,  he  hath  chosen  a  line  of 
fourteen  syllables  for  expressing  uncommon  celerity  : 
"Which  urged,  and  labour'd,  and  forced  up  with  pain, 
Recoils,  and  rolls  impetuous  down,  and  smokes  along  the  plain."" 

Pope  seems  to  have  thought  that  in  this  instance,  thou^  the 
principle  on  which  Dryden  proceeded  was  good,  he  had  ex- 
ceeded all  reasonable  bounds  in  applying  it ;  for  it  is  this  very 
line  which  he  hath  curtailed  into  an  Alexandrine  in  the  pas- 
sage from  the  Odyssey  already  quoted.  Indeed,  the  impropri- 
ety here  is  not  solely  in  the  measure,  but  also  in  the  diph- 
thongs oi,  and  ow,  and  oa,  so  frequently  recurring,  than  which 
nothing,  not  even  a  collision  of  jarring  consonants,  is  less  fit- 
ted to  express  speed.  The  only  word  in  the  line  that  seems 
adapted  to  the  poet's  view  is  the  term  impetuous,  in  which  two 
short  syllables,  being  crowded  into  the  time  of  one,  have  an 
effect  similar  to  that  produced  by  the  dactyl  in  Greek  and 
Latin.  Creech,  without  the  aid  of  an  Alexandrine,  hath  been 
equally,  if  not  more,  unsuccessful.  The  same  line  of  ihe 
Latin  poet  he  thus  translates  : 

"  And  with  swift  force  roll  through  the  humble  plain." 
Here  the  sentiment,  instead  of  being  imitated,  is  contrasted 
by  the  expression.     A  more  crawling  spondaic  verse  our  he- 
roic measure  hardly  ever  admits. 

At  the  same  time,  in  justice  to  English  prosody,  it  ought  to 
be  remarked,  that  it  compriseth  one  kind  of  metre,  the  ana- 
paestic, which  is  very  fit  for  expressing  celerity,  perhaps  as 
much  as  any  kind  of  measure,  ancient  or  modern.  But  there 
is  in  it  a  light  familiarity,  which  is  so  ill  adapted  to  the  majes- 
ty of  the  iambic  as  to  render  it  but  rarely  admissible  into  po- 
ems written  in  this  measure,  and,  consequently,  either  into 
tragedy  or  into  epic. 

Ere  I  conclude  what  may  be  said  on  the  subject  of  motion, 
I  shall  observe  farther,  that  there  are  ether  affections  of  mo- 
tion besides  swiftness  and  slowness,  such  as  vibration,  inter- 
mission, inequality,  which,  to  a  certain  degree,  may  be  imita- 
ted in  the  sound  of  the  description.  The  expression 
"  Troy's  turrets  totter'd," 

in  the  translation  of  the  Iliad,  is  an  instance  of  the  first,  the 
*  Lucretius,  b.  iii 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  345 

vibration  being  represented  by  the  frequent  and  quick  recur- 
rence of  the  same  letters  ranged  a  little  diflcrently.  In  the 
iine 

"Tumbling  all  precipitate  down  dash'd," 

already  quoted  from  the  Ruins  of  Rome,  there  is  an  attempt 
to  imitate  the  motion  as  well  as  the  sound.  The  last  of  the 
four  following  lines  from  ]Milton  contains  also  a  tolerable  im- 
itation of  both  : 

"  Oft  on  a  plat  of  rising:  ground 

I  hear  the  far-off  curfew  soutid, 

Over  some  wide-vvater'd  shore, 

Swinging  slow  wiih  sullen  roar."* 

Another  very  natural  subject  of  imitation  is  size,  or  what- 
ever the  terms  great  or  little  may  be  applied  to,  literally  or 
metaphorically.  Things  grand  may  be  imitated  by  long  and 
well-sounding  words ;  things  bulky  by  long  and  ill-sounding 
words ;  things  little  by  short  words.  The  connexion  here  is 
as  obvious  as  in  either  of  the  two  former  cases,  but  the  pow- 
er of  our  language  is  rather  less.  It  atTords  so  little  variety 
in  the  choice  of  words  in  respect  of  length,  that  often  the 
grandest  objects  in  nature  cannot  be  expressed  with  proprie- 
ty otherwise  than  by  a  poor  monosyllable.  Bulkiness,  ac- 
companied with  motion,  will  fall  to  be  exemplified  in  the  next 
article. 

A  fourth  subject  of  imitation  in  language  i§  difficulty  and 
ease.  There  is  a  considerable  difference  in  this  respect  in 
the  pronunciation  of  different  words  and  sentences,  which,  if 
happily  accommodated  in  the  sentiment,  adds  to  the  effect  of 
the  expression.  If,  for  instance,  what  is  difficultly  acted  be 
difficultly  pronounced,  and  if,  ou  the  contrary,  what  is  per- 
formei  with  facility  be  uttered  with  ease,  there  will  result  a 
certain  degree  of  vivacity  from  this  slight  resemblance  ;  for 
it  is  an  invariable  maxim,  that  the  ear  is  grated  with  hearing 
what  the  organs  of  speech  find  it  uneasy  to  articulate.  Sev- 
eral things  contribute  to  render  pronunciation  difficult.  First, 
the  collision  of  vowels  ;  that  is,  when  one  syllable  ends  with 
a  vowel,  and  the  next  (it  matters  not  whether  it  be  in  the  , 
same  word  or  not)  begins  with  the  same  vowel,  or  with  one  / 
which  approaches  to  it  in  sound.  Re-enter,  co-operate,  re- 
enforce,  re-animate  though  oft,  the  ear,  the  open,  are  examples 
of  this.  A  certain  effort  is  required  to  keep  them,  as  it  were, 
asunder,  and  make  both  be  distinctly  heard  as  belonging  to 
different  syllables.  When  the  vowels  are  very  unlike  in 
sound,  or  the  formation  of  the  one  is  easily  accomplished  af- 
ter the  articulation  of  the  other,  they  have  not  the  same  effect. 
Thus,  in  the  words  vanety,  coeval,  the  collision  doth  not  cre- 
ate a  perceptible  difficulty.     Now,  as  difficulty  is  generally 

*  II  Penseroso. 


346  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

the  cause  of  slowness  in  any  operation,  such  a  clashing  of 
vt'wels  is  often  employed  to  represent  a  tardy  or  lingering 
motion.*  A  second  cause  of  difficulty  in  utterrance  is  the 
frequent  recurring  of  the  aspirate  (h),  especially  when  placed 
between  two  vowels  that  are  both  sounded.  It  is  this  which 
renders  the  translation  of  the  passage  above  quoted  from  the 
Odyssey  so  significant  of  the  same  qualities. 

"  Up  the  h\gh  h'lU  he  heaves  a  Auge  round  stone." 
A.  like  effect  is  produced  by  any  of  the  mutes  that  are  aspi- 
rated, as  the  ih  and  ph,  ox  f,  especially  if  combined  with  other 
consonants.     The  following  line  of  Chaucer  is  not  a  bad  ex- 
ample of  this  : 

"  He  through  the  thickest  of  the  throng  gan  threke."+ 
A  third  cause  of  difficulty  in  pronunciation  is  the  clash  of  two 
or  more  jarring  consonants.  Some  consonants  are  easily 
combined;  the  combinations  of  such  are  not  expressive  of 
this  quality,  but  it  is  not  so  with  all.  An  instance  of  this  dif- 
ficulty we  have  in  the  following  line  : 

"  And  strains  •'•  from  hard  bound  brains  •'•  six  lines  a  year."t 
We  have  here  once  five  consonants,  sometimes  four,  and 
sometimes  three,  which  are  all  pronounced  without  an  inter- 
vening vowel.  The  difficulty  is  rendered  still  more  sensible 
by  the  doable  pause,  which  occasions  a  very  drawling  move- 
ment. Another  example  1  shall  take  from  the  same  author  • 
"  When  Ajax  strives  some  rock's  vast  weight  to  throw, 
The  hne  too  labours,  and  the  words  move  slow."^ 

In  the  first  of  these  lines,  the  harsh  combinations  of  conso- 
nants make  the  difficulty  of  pronunciation  very  observable  ; 
in  the  second,  the  author  hath  not  been  so  successful.  I 
know  not  how  it  might  affect  the  more  delicate  ear  of  an 
Italian,  but  if  we  compare  it  with  the  generality  of  English 
verses,  we  shall  find  it  remarkably  easy  and  flowing.  It  has 
nothing  in  respect  of  sound,  either  in  the  syllables  separately 
or  in  the  measure,  that  in  the  least  favours  the  sentiment,  ex- 
cept only  in  its  ending  in  a  spondee  instead  of  an  iambus. 
But  this  is  too  common  in  our  poesy  to  have  any  effect  that 
is  worthy  of  notice.  Vida"s  translator,  in  a  passage  extreme- 
ly similar,  hath  been  happier,  if  he  may  not  be  thought  to 
have  exceeded  in  this  respect : 

"If  some  large  weight  his  huge  arm  strive  to  shove, 
The  verse  to6  labours,  the  throng"d  words  scarce  move."|| 

First,  the  word  verse  is  harsher  than  line ;  secondly,  the  end- 
ing is  in  two  spondees,  which,  though  perhaps  admissible  into 

V 

♦  It  is  chiefly  from  this  cause  that  the  line  in  the  Odyssey  above  quoted 
is  so  expressive  of  both  :  "  Aonv  i'l-w  wOcctkc — '" 

+  Knight's  Tale.  t  Pope,  Fragment  of  a  Satire. 

()  Essay  on  Criticism.  II  Pitt. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  347 

the  iambic  measure,  is  very  rare,  and  hath  for  that  reason  a 
more  considerable  effect.  A  fourth  cause  of  difficulty  in  the 
pronunciation  is  the  want  of  hurniony  in  the  numbers.  This 
is  frequently  an  effect  of  some  of  the  forementioned  causes, 
and  may  be  illustrated  by  some  of  the  examples  already 
quoted.  In  the  following  passage  from  Milton,  one  of  the 
most  unharnionious  in  the  book,  hugeness  of  size,  slowness 
and  difficulty  of  motion,  are  at  once  aptly  imitated : 

"  Part  huge  of  bulk  ! 

Wallowing,  unwieldy,  enormous  in  their  gait, 

Tempest  the  ocean — "* 

An  illustration  of  tardiness,  difficulty,  and  hesitancy  through 
fear,  the  same  author  hath  also  given  us  in  the  ill-compacted 
lines  which  follow : 

"  He  came,  '•  and  with  him  Eve,  ■'•  more  loth, '  though  first 
To  offend,  discountenanced  both,  and  discomposed. "t 

Several  of  the  foregoing  causes  concur  in  the  following 
couplet : 

"  So  he  with  difficulty  and  labour  hard 
Moved  on,  with  difficulty  and  labour  he."t 

A  fifth  cause  of  difficulty,  the  last  I  shall  take  notice  of,  is 
when  tliere  is  a  frequent  recurrence  of  the  same  letters  or 
syllables,  especially  where  the  measure  requires  a  quick  pro- 
nunciation, because  then  there  is  the  greatest  risk  of  mistake 
•  and  confusion.^ 

I  shall  just  mention  another  subject  of  imitation  by  sound 
which  is  very  general,  and  may  be  said  to  comprehend  every- 
thing not  included  in  those  above  mentioned.  The  agreeable 
in  things  may  be  adumbrated  to  us  by  smooth  and  -pleasTint 
sounds,  the  disagreeable  by  such  as  are  harsh  and  grating. 
Here,  it  must  be  owned,  the  resemblance^ can  he  but  very  re- 
mote ;  yet  even  here  it  will  sometimes  serve  to  enliven  the 
expression. 

Indeed,  the  power  of  numbers,  or  a  series  of  accordant 
sounds,  is  much  more  expressive  than  tliat  of  single  sounds. 
Accordingly,  in  poetry,  we  are  furnished  with  the  best  ex- 
amples in  all  the  kinds  ;  and  as  the  writer  of  odes  hath,  in 
this  respect,  a  much  greater  latitude  than  any  other  kind  of 
versifier,  and  at  pleasure  may  vary  his  measure  with  his 
subject,  I  shall  take  a  few  illustrations  from  our  lyric  poets. 
All  sorts  of  English  verse,  it  hath  been  justly  remarked,  are 
reducible  to  three,  the  iambic,  the  trochaic,  and  the  anapaestic. 
In  the  first  of  these,  the  even  syllables  are  accented,  as  some 
choose  to  express  it,  or,  as  others,  the  even  syllables  are  long; 

*  Paradise  Lost,  b.  vii.  t  Ibid.,  b.  x.  t  Ibid.,  b.  u. 

()  An  excellent  example  of  this  kind  we  have  from  the  Iliad,  1.  116: 

"  rioXXti  S'  avavra,  Kuravra,  irdpavTa  re,  56x1^'"  i"'  t/XOov." 

Phis  recurrence  is  the  hapoier  here,  as  it  is  peculiarly  descriptive  of  rugged 
wavs  and  jolting  motion. 


348  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORlJ 

in  the  second,  it  is  on  the  odd  syllables  that  the  accent  rests  : 
in  the  third,  two  unaccented  syllables  are  followed  by  one 
accented.  The  nearer  the  verses  of  the  several  kinds  are  to 
perfection,  the  more  exactly  they  correspond  with  the  defi- 
nitions just  now  given  ;  though  each  kind  admits  deviations 
to  a  certain  degree,  and  in  long  poems  even  requires  them 
for  the  sake  of  variety.  The  iambus  is  expressive  of  dignity 
and  grandeur ;  the  trochee,  on  the  contrary,  according  to 
Aristotle,*  is  froUcsome  and  gay.  It  were  difficult  to  assign 
a  reason  for  this  difference  that  would  be  satisfactory ;  but 
of  the  thing  itself,  I  imagine,  most  people  will  be  sensible  on 
comparing  the  two  kinds  together.  I  know  not  whether  it 
will  be  admitted  as  a  sufficient  reason  that  the  distinction 
into  metrical  feet  hath  a  much  greater  influence  in  poetry  on 
the  rise  and  the  fall  of  the  voice  than  the  distinction  into 
words ;  and  if  so,  when  the  cadences  happen  mostly  after 
the  long  syllables,  the  verse  will  naturally  have  an  air  of 
greater  gravity  than  when  they  happen  mostly  after  the 
short.  An  example  of  the  different  effects  of  these  two 
measures  we  have  in  the  following  lines  of  an  admired  mod- 
ern, whose  death  lately  afforded  a  just  subject  of  lamentation 
to  every  good  man,  as  well  as  to  every  friend  of  the  muses  : 
"  Thee  the  voice,  the  dance  obey, 

Temper'd  to  thy  warbled  lay. 

0"er  Idalia's  velvet  green 

The  rosy  crowned  loves  are  seen 

On  Cytherea's  day. 

With  antic  sports  and  blue-eyed  pleasures, 

Frisking  light  in  frolic  measures  ; 

Now  pursuing,  now  retreating, 

Now  in  circling  troops  they  meet ; 

To  brisk  notes  in  cadence  beating, 

Glance  their  many-twinkling  feet. 

Slow  melting  strains  their  queen's  approach  declare : 

Where'er  she  turns,  the  Graces  homage  pay. 

With  arms  sublime,  that  float  upon  the  air, 

In  gliding  state,  she  wins  her  easy  way  : 

O'er  her  warm  cheek  and  rising  bosom  move 

The  bloom  of  young  desire,  and  purple  light  of  love."t 

The  expression  of  majesty  and  grace  in  the  movement  of 
the  last  six  hues  is  wonderfully  enhanced  by  the  light  and 
airy  measure  of  the  lines  that  introduce  them.  The  anapaest 
is  capable,  according  as  it  is  applied,  of  two  effects  extremely 
different :  first,  it  is  expressive  of  ease  and  familiarity,  and, 
accordingly,  is  often  used  with  success  both  in  familiar  epis- 
tles and  in  pastoral.  The  other  effect  is  an  expression  of 
hurry,  confusion,  and  precipitation.  These  two,  however  dif- 
ferent, may  be  thus  accounted  for.  The  first  is  a  consequence 
of  its  resemblance  to  the  style  of  conversation  :  there  are  so 
many  particles  in  our  language,  such  as  monosyllabic  pro- 

♦  Rhet.,  lib.  iii.  t  Gray's  Progress  of  Poesy. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  349 

nouns,  prepositions,  conjunctions,  and  articles,  on  which  the 
accent  never  rests,  that  tlic  short  syllables  are  greatly  super- 
numerary. One  consequence  of  this  is,  that  common  chat  is 
with  greater  ease,  as  1  imagine,  reduced  to  this  nieasure  than 
to  any  other.  The  second  consequence  ariseth  purely  from 
its  rapidity  compared  with  other  measures.  This  effect  il 
is  especially  fitted  to  produce,  when  it  is  contrasted  with  tlie 
gravity  of  the  iambic  measure,  as  may  be  done  in  the  ode  , 
and  when  the  style  is  a  little  elevated,  so  as  to  be  sufficiently 
distinguished  from  the  style  of  conversation.  All  these  kinds 
have  been  employed  with  success  in  the  Alexander's  Feast, 
an  ode  that  hath  been  as  much  celebrated  as  perhaps  any  in 
our  language,  and  from  which  I  propose  to  produce  some  il- 
lustrations. The  poet,  on  recognising  Jove  as  the  father  of 
his  hero,  hath  used  the  most  regular  and  perfect  iambics  : 
"The  list'niiig  crowd  admire  the  lofty  s6und, 
A  present  deity'  they  shout  around, 
A  present  deity'  the  vaulted  roofs  rebound. 

With  ravish'd  eiirs 

The  monarch  hears, 

Assumes  the  god, 

Affects  to  i)6d, 
And  seems  to  shake  the  spheres." 

But  when  he  comes  to  sing  the  jovial  god  of  wine,  he  very 
judiciously  changes  the  measure  into  the  brisk  trochaic 

"  Bacchus,  ever  fair  and  young, 
Drfnkiiig  joys  did  first  ordain. 
Bacchus'  blessings  are  a  treasure, 
Drinking  Is  the  s61dier's  pleasure. 
Rich  the  treasure, 
Sweet  the  pleasure, 
Sweet  is  pleasure  after  pain." 

Again,  when  he  describes  his  hero  as  wrought  up  to  madness, 
and  setting  fire  to  the  city  in  a  fit  of  revenge,  he  with  great 
propriety  exhibits  this  phrensy  in  rapid  anapaests,  the  effect 
of  winch  is  set  off  the  more  strongly  by  their  having  a  few 
iambic  lines  interspersed. 

"  Revenge !  revenge !  Timotheus  cries ; 
See  the  furies  arise ' 
See  the  snakes  that  they  rear, 
How  they  hiss  in  their  hair, 
And  the  sparkles  that  flash  from  their  ey'es  ! 
Behold  how  they  toss  their  torches  on  high, 
How  they  point  to  the  Persian  ab6des 
And  plittermg  temples  of  their  h6stile  gods. 
The  princes  applaCd  with  a  fiirious  j6y, 
And  the  king  seized  a  flambeau  with  z^al  todestr6y." 

So  much  for  the  power  of  numbers.  It  may  not  be  amiss 
now,  ere  I  conclude  this  topic,  to  make  a  few  cursory  remarks 
on  the  imitative  powers  of  the  several  letters  which  are  the 
elements  of  all  articulate  sounds.  And,  first,  soft  and  deli- 
cate sounds  are  mostly  occasioned  bv  an  equal  mixture  of 
G  Q 


350  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

consonants  with  short  and  monophthong  vowels ;  the  conso- 
nants being  chiefly  those  denominated  liquids,  /,  m,  n,  r,  and 
those  among  the  mutes  called  slender,  p,  t,  k,  or  c  and  ch  when 
they  sound  as  k ;  to  these  addv,  also  z  and  s,  when  they  sound 
as  in  the  two  words  Zion -dnd  Asia.  In  like  manner,  the  duplica- 
tion of  a  consonant  sounds  more  delicately  than  the  combi- 
nation of  different  consonants.  Thus  ammiro  is  softer  than 
admiro,  fatlo  than  faclo,  alto  than  apto,  and  disse  than  dixe. 
Secondly,  strong  and  loud  sounds  are  better  exhibited  by 
diphthongs  and  long  vowels,  those  of  the  mutes  called  mid- 
dle, and  which  comparatively  may  be  termed  hard,  b,  d,  g  in 
both  its  sounds,  and  j,  especially  when  these  are  combined 
with  liquids,  which  render  tliem  more  sonorous,  without  oc- 
casioning harshness,  as  in  the  words  bombard,  thunder,  clan- 
gour, bludgeon,  grumble.  Thirdly,  to  roughness  the  letter  h 
contributes  as  well  as  the  gutturals.  Such  is  the  Greek  Xi 
to  which  there  is  no  corresponding  sound  in  English,  though 
there  is  in  Spanish  and  in  German ;  also  those  of  the  mutes 
called  aspirates,  as  /  or  ph,  and  tli  in  both  its  sounds,*  the 
double  r,  and  all  uncouth  combinations.  Fourthly,  to  sharp 
and  cutting  sounds  the  following  letters  best  contribute :  s 
when  it  sounds  as  in  mass,  c  when  it  has  the  same  sound,  ch 
when  it  sounds  as  in  chide,  x,  sh,  and  ivh  ;  from  the  abounding 
of  which  letters  and  combinations  among  us,  foreigners  are 
apt  to  remark  I  know  not  what  appearance  of  whistling  or 
hissing  in  our  conversation.  Indeed,  the  word  whistle  is  one 
whose  sound  is  as  expressive  of  the  signification  as  perhaps 
any  other  word  whatever.  Fifthly,  obscure  and  tingling  sounds 
are  best  expressed  by  the  nasals,  ng  and  nk,  as  in  ringing, 
swinging,  twanging,  sinking;  by  the  S7i,  as  in  snuffie,  sneeze, 
snort;  and  even  by  the  n  simply  when  it  follows  another 
liquid  or  mute,  and  when  the  vowel  (if  there  be  a  vowel  in- 
terposed between  it  and  the  preceding  consonant)  is  not  very 
audibly  pronounced,  as  in  morn,  horn,  sullen,  fallen,  bounden, 
gotten,  beholden,  holpen.  This  sound  formerly  much  abounded 
in  English.  It  was  not  only  the  termination  of  many  of  the 
participles,  but  also  of  most  plurals,  both  of  nouns  and  of 
verbs.  As  a  plural  termination,  if  we  except  a  very  few 
nouns,  we  may  say  it  is  now  entirely  banished,  and  very 
much,  perhaps  too  much,  disused  in  participles.  The  sound 
is  unmusical,  and,  consequently,  when  too  frequent,  offen- 
sive, but  may,  nevertheless,  have  a  good  effect  when  used 
sparingly.  Besides,  it  would  be  convenient,  especially  in 
verse,  that  we  could  oftener  distinguish  the  preterit  from  the 
participle  than  our  language  permits. 

Now,  of  the  five  sorts  of  sound  above  explained,  it  may  be 

♦  Of  these  one  occurs  in  the  noun  breath,  the  other  in  the  verb  breathe. 
The  first  is  the  roughest. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  351 

remarked,  by-the-way,  that  the  first  is  characteristic  of  the 
Italian,  the  second  of  the  Spanish,  the  third  of  tlie  Dutcli,  and 
perhaps  of  most  of  tlie  Teutonic  dialects,  the  fourth  of  tlie 
English,  and  the  fifth  of  the  French,  whose  final  7n  and  n, 
when  not  followed  by  a  vowel,  and  whose  terminations  ent 
and  ant,  are  much  more  nasal  than  th3  7iif  and  nli  of  the  Eng- 
lish. I  suspect,  too,  both  from  their  prosody  and  from  their 
pronunciation,  that  of  all  the  languages  above  mentioned,  the 
French  is  the  least  capable  of  that  kind  of  imitaiion  of  vvliich 
I  have  been  speaking.  On  tlie  other  hand,  I  think,  but  in  this 
opinion  I  am  not  confident,  that  of  all  those  languages  the 
English  is,  on  the  whole,  the  most  capable.  There  is,  per- 
haps, no  particular  excellence  of  sound  in  which  it  is  not  out- 
done by  one  or  other  of  them :  the  Italian  hath  doubtless 
more  sweetness,  the  Spanish  more  majesty,  the  German, 
perhaps,  more  bluster  ;  but  none  of  them  is  in  this  respect  so 
various  as  the  English,  and  can  equal  it  in  all  these  qualities. 
So  much  for  the  properties  in  things  that  are  susceptible 
of  a  kind  of  imitation  by  language,  and  the  degree  in  which 
they  are  susceptible. 

Part  II.  In  what  Esteem  ought  this  Kind  of  Imitation  to  be  hela, 
and  when  ought  it  to  be  Attempted  ? 

It  remains  now  to  consider  what  rank  ought  to  be  assign- 
ed to  this  species  of  beauty,  and  in  what  cases  it  ought  to  be 
attempted. 

As  to  the  first  of  these  inquiries,  from  what  hath  been  al- 
ready said,  it  appears  very  plain  that  the  resemblance  or 
analogy  which  the  sound  can  be  made  in  any  case  to  bear  to 
the  sense,  is  at  best^  when  we  consider  the  matter  abstractly,  C\^^  ^.m 
but  very  remote.  Often  a  beauty  of  this  kind  is  more  the  ^''  '^j\  . 
creature  of  the  reader's  fancy  than  the  effect  of  the  writer's 
ingenuity. 

Another  observation  which  will  assist  us  in  determining 
the  question  is,  that  when  the  other  properties  of  elocution 
are  attained,  the  absence  of  this  kind  of  imagery,  if  I  may 
express  it  by  so  strong  a  term,  occasions  no  defect  at  all. 
We  never  miss  it ;  we  never  think  of  it ;  whereas  an  ambig- 
uous, obscure,  improper,  languid,  or  inelegant  expression,  is 
quickly  discovered  by  a  person  of  knowledge  and  taste,  and 
pronounced  to  be  a  blemish.  Nor  is  this  species  of  resem- 
blance to  be  considered  as  on  the  same  footing  witli  lliose 
superior  excellences,  the  want  of  which,  by  reason  of  their 
uncommonness,  is  never  censured  as  a  fault,  but  whicli,  when 
present,  give  rise  to  the  highest  admiration.  On  the  contra- 
ry, not  the  absence  only,  but  even  the  attainment  of  this  re- 
semblance, as  far  as  it  is  attainable,  runs  more  risk  of  pass- 
ing unheeded  than  any  other  species  of  beauty  in  the  style, 
I  ought,  however,  to  exccp'  from  this  the  imitation  produced 


V 


352  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

by  the  different  kinds  of  measure  in  poetry,  which,  I  ac- 
knowledge, is  sufficiently  observable,  and  hath  a  much  strong- 
er effect  than  any  other  whereof  language  alone  is  suscepti- 
ble. The  reason  why  in  other  cases  it  may  so  readily  pass 
unnoticed  is,  that  even  the  richest  and  most  diversified  lan- 
guage hath  very  little  power,  as  hath  been  shown  already,  in 
this  particular.  It  is  therefore  evident,  that  if  the  merit  of 
every  kind  of  rhetorical  excellence  is  to  be  ascertained  by 
the  effect,  and  I  know  of  no  other  standard,  to  this  species 
we  can  only  assign  with  justice  the  very  lowest  rank.  If 
ought,  consequently,  ever  to  give  place  to  the  other  virtue? 
and  ornaments  of  elocution,  and  not  they  to  it. 

As  to  the  other  question,  In  what  cases  it  may  be  propej 
to  aim  at  the  similitude  in  sound  of  which  I  have  been  treat- 
ing? those  cases  will  appear,  to  one  who  attentively  consid 
ers  what  hath  been  already  advanced  on  the  subject,  to  be 
comparatively  few.  Hardly  any  compositions  in  prose,  un- 
less those  whose  end  is  to  persuade,  and  which  aim  at  a  cer- 
tain vehemence  in  style  and  sentiment,  give  access  to  exem- 
plify this  resemblance ;  and  even  in  poetry  it  is  only  the 
most  pathetic  passages  and  the  descriptive  parts  to  which  the 
beauty  whereof  I  am  speaking  seems  naturally  adapted.  The 
critical  style,  the  argumentative,  and  the  didactic,  by  no  means 
suit  it.  Yet  it  may  be  said  that  some  of  the  examples  above 
quoted  for  the  illustration  of  this  subject  are  taken  from  the 
writings  of  the  kind  last  mentioned,  from  Pope  on  Criticism, 
and  Vida  on  Poesy.  But  it  must  be  observed,  that  the  au- 
thors, in  the  passages  alluded  to,  are  discoursing  on  this  very 
subject.  An  exemplification  was  therefore  necessary  in 
them,  in  order  to  eonvey  to  their  reade^^.-a.  distinct  idea  of 
what  they  meant  toi-  recommend. 

I  must  farther  observe,  that,  even  in  those  poems  wherein 
this  kind  of  resemblance  is  most  suitable,  it  is  only  in  a  few 
passages,  when  something  more  striking  than  ordinary  comes 
to  be  described,  that  it  ought  to  be  attempted.  This  beauty 
in  language  is  not  to  be  considered  as  bearing  an  analogy  to 
dress,  by  which  the  whole  person  is  adorned,  but  to  those 
jewels  w'hiqh  are  intended  solely  for  the  decoration  of  cer- 
tain parts,  and  whose  effect  depends  very  much  on  their  be- 
ing placed  with  judgment.  '  It  is  an  invariable  rule,  that  in 
every  poem  and  oration,  whatever  be  the  subject,  the  lan- 
guage, in  the  general  tenour  of  it,  ought  to  be  harmonious 
and  easy.  A  deviation  in  a  few  particular  passages  may  not 
only  be  pardonable,  but  even  meritorious.  Yet  this  merit, 
when  there  is  a  merit  in  introducing  harsh  sounds  and  jarring 
numbers,  as  oh  some  occasions  there  doubtless  is,  receives 
great  relief  from  its  contrariety  to  the  general  flow  of  the 
style  :  and  with  regard  to  the  general  flow,  as  I  observed  al- 
ready, the  rule  holds  invariably.     Supposing  the  subject  of 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  353 

the  piece  were  the  twelve  labours  of  Hercules,  should  the 
poet,  ill  order  to  adapt  his  language  to  his  theme,  choose 
words  of  the  most  difficult  utterance,  and  througli  the  wliole 
performance  studiously  avoid  harmony  and  grace  ;  far  from 
securing  to  himself  admiration,  he  would  not  even  be  read. 

I  shall  only  add,  that  though  it  is  not  prudent  in  an  author 
to  go  a  step  out  of  his  way  in  quest  of  this  capricious  beauty, 
who,  when  she  does  not  act  spontaneously,  does  nothing 
gracefully,  a  poet,  in  particular,  may  not  unreasonably  be 
more  solicitous  to  avoid  her  opposite,  especially  in  the  ex- 
pression of  the  more  striking  thoughts,  as  nothing  in  such  a 
case  can  be  more  ungraceful  in  the  style  than  when,  either 
in  sound  or  in  measure,  it  serves  as  a  contrast  to  the  senti- 
ment. 


CHAPTER  II. 

OF    VIVACITY   AS    DEPENDING    ON   THE    NUMBER    OF   THE   WORDS. 

SECTION  I. 
THIS   QUALITY   EXPLAINED   AND    EXEMPLIFIED. 

When  I  entered  on  the  subject  of  vivacity,*  I  observed  that 
this  quality  of  style  might  result  either  from  a  happy  choice 
of  words,  from  their  number,  or  from  their  arrangement. 
The  first  I  have  already  discussed,  and  shown  how  words 
may  conduce  to  vivacity,  not  only  from  their  sense,  whether 
they  be  proper  or  figurative,  but  also  from  their  sound. 

I  come  now  to  consider  how  far  vivacity  may  be  affected 
by  the  number  of  the  words.  Of  this  article  it  may  be  estab- 
lished as  a  maxim  that  admits  no  exception,  and  it  is  the  only 
maxim  which  this  article  admits,  that  the  fewer  the  words 
are,  provided  neither  propriety  nor  perspicuity  he  violated, 
the  expression  is  always  the  more  vivid.  "  Brevity,"  says 
Shakspeare,  "is  the  soul  of  wit."f  Thus  much  is  certain, 
that  of  whatever  kind  the  sentiment  be,  witty,  humorous, 
grave,  jLiiimated,op-euW!Hi[e,4liemore  briefly  it  is  expressed^ 
the  energy  is  the  greater,  or  tfii^V!ntniit!ill  is  the  more  eii- 
Inrenedj^ntttheTrmicttlar^juality  for  which  k  is  eminent  the 
isplayed. 

-  Among  the  ancients,  the  Lacedemonians  were  the  most  re- 
markable for  conciseness.  To  use  few  words,  to  speak  en- 
ergetically, and  to  be  laconic,  were  almost  synonymous.  As 
when  the  rays  of  the  sun  are  collected  into  the  focus  of  a 
burning  glass,  the  smaller  the  spot  is  which  receives  tnem, 

*  Book  iii.,  chao.  i.  t  }Iainl»> 

Gg2 


354  THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF   RHETORIC. 

compared  with  the  surface  of  the  glass,  the  greater  is  the 
splendour  ;  or  as  in  distillation,  the  less  the  quantity  of  spirit 
is  that  is  extracted  by  the  still,  compared  with  the  quantity 
of  liquor  from  which  the  extraction  is  made,  the  greater  is 
the  strength  ;  so,  in  exhibiting  our  sentiments  by  speech,  the 
narrower  the  compass  of  words  is  wherein  the  thought  is 
comprised,  the  more  energetic  is  the  expression.  Accord- 
ingly, we  shall  find,  that  the  very  same  sentiment,  expressed 
diffusely,  will  be  admitted  barely  to  be  just ;  expressed  con- 
cisely, will  be  admired  as  spirited. 

To  recur  to  examples  :  the  famous  answer  returned  by  the 
Countess  of  Dorset  to  the  letter  of  Sir  Joseph  Williamson, 
secretary  of  state  to  Charles  the  Second,  nominating  to  her 
a  member  for  the  borough  of  Appleby,  is  an  excellent  illus- 
tration of  this  doctrine.  "  I  have  been  bullied,"  says  her 
ladyship,  "  by  a  usurper,  I  have  been  neglected  by  a  court, 
but  I  will  not  be  dictated  to  by  a  subject — your  man  sha'n't 
stand."*  If  we  consider  the  meaning,  there  is  mention  made 
here  of  two  facts,  which  it  was  impossible  that  anybody  of 
common  sense,  in  this  lady's  circumstances,  should  not  have 
observed,  and  of  a  resolution,  in  consequence  of  these,  which 
it  was  natural  for  every  person  who  had  a  resentment  of  bad 
usage  to  make.  Whence,  then,  results  the  vivacity,  the  fire 
which  is  so  manifest  in  the  letter?  Not  from  anything  ex- 
traordinary in  the  matter,  but  purely  from  the  laconism  of 
the  manner.  An  ordinary  spirit  would  have  employed  as 
many  pages  to  express  the  same  thing  as  there  are  affirma- 
tions in  this  short  letter.  The  epistle  might  in  that  case  have 
been  very  sensible,  and,  withal,  very  dull,  but  would  never 
have  been  thought  worthy  of  being  recorded  as  containing 
anything  uncommon,  or  deserving  a  reader's  notice. 

Of  all  our  English  poets,  none  hath  more  successfully 
studied  conciseness,  or  rendered  it  more  conducive  to  vi- 
vacity, than  Pope. 

Take  the  folloviing  lines  as  one  example  of  a  thousand 
which  might  be  produced  from  liis  writings  : 
"  See  how  the  world  its  veterans  rewards  ' 

A  youth  of  frolics,  an  old  age  of  cards  ; 

Fair  to  no  purpose,  artful  to  no  end ; 

Young  without  lovers,  old  without  a  friend ; 

A  fop  their  passion,  but  their  prize  a  sot; 

Alive  ridiculous,  and  dead  forgot. "f 

Nothing  is  more  evident  than  that  the  same  passage  may 
have  great  beauties  and  great  blemishes.  There  is  a  monot- 
ony in  the  measure  of  the  above  quotation  (the  lines  being  all 
so  equally  divided  by  the  pauses)  which  would  render  it,  if 
much  longer,  almost  as  tiresome  to  the  ear  as  a  speech  in  a 
French  tragedy ;    besides,  the  unwearied  run  of  antithesis 

*  Catalogue  of  royal  and  noble  authors.  t  Moral  Essays,  ep.  iL 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  355 

through  five  successive  Hues  is  rather  too  much,  as  it  gives 
an  air  of  quaintness  to  the  whole.  Yet  that  there  is  a  great 
degree  of  hvehiiess  in  the  expression  is  undeniable.  This 
excellence  is  not,  I  acknowledge,  to  be  ascribed  solely  to  the 
brevity.  Somewhat  is  doubtless  imputable  both  to  the  words 
themselves  and  to  their  arrangement ;  but  the  first  mentioned 
is  still  the  principal  cause.  The  trope  in  the  fifth  line,  their 
passion,  for  the  object  of  their  passion,  conduceth  to  vivacity, 
not  only  as  being  a  trope,  but  as  rendering  the  expression 
briefer,  and  thereby  more  nervous.  Even  the  omission  of 
the  substantive  verb,  of  the  conjunctions,  and  of  the  personal 
pronouns,  contribute  not  a  little  to  the  same  end.  Such  el- 
lipses are  not,  indeed,  to  be  adopted  into  prose,  and  may  even 
abound  too  much  in  verse.  This  author,  in  particular,  hath 
sometimes  exceeded  in  this  way,  and  hath  sacrificed  both 
perspicuity  and  a  natural  simplicity  of  expression  to  the  am- 
bition of  saying  a  great  deal  in  few  words.  But  there  is  no 
beauty  of  style  for  which  one  may  not  pay  too  high  a  price  : 
and  if  any  price  ought  to  be  deemed  too  higli,  either  of  these 
certainly  ought,  especially  perspicuity,  because  it  is  this  which 
throws  light  on  every  other  beaut3^ 

Propriety  may  sometimes  be  happily  violated.  An  im- 
proper expi"essiOTi  may  have  a  vivacity,  which,  if  we  should 
reduce  the  words  to  grammatical  correctness,  would  be  an- 
nihilated. Shakspeare  abounds  in  such  happy  improprieties 
For  instance, 

"  And  be  these  juggling  fiends  no  more  believed, 

That  paller  with  us  in  a  double  sense, 

That  keep  the  word  nf  promise  to  our  ear, 

And  break  it  to  our  hope."''' 

In  another  place, 

_  "  It  is  a  custonn 

3wre  honoured  in  the  breach  than  the  observance."  f 

David's  accusation  of  Joab,  that  he  had  shed  the  Mood  of  war 
inpeace,X  or  what  Solomon  says  of  the  virtuous  woman,  that 
she  eateth  not  the  bread  of  idleness,^  serve  also  to  verify  the 
same  remark.  Everybody  understands  these  expressions  ; 
everybody  that  knows  English  perceives  an  impropriety  in 
them,  which  it  is  perhaps  impossible  to  mend  without  de- 
stroying their  energy. |1     But  a  beauty  that  is  unperceivable 

*  Macbeth.  t  Hamlet. 

t  1  Kings,  ii.,  5.  <j  Prov.,  xxxi.,  37. 

II  The  Hebraism  in  each  of  these  quotations  from  Scripture  constitutes 
the  peculiarity ;  and  as  the  reasons  are  nearly  equal  with  regard  to  all  mod- 
ern lafiguages  for  either  admitting  or  rejecting  an  Oriental  idiom,  the  obser- 
vation will  equally  affect  other  European  tongues  into  which  the  Bible  is 
translated.  A  scrupulous  attention  to  the  purity  ot"  the  language  into  which 
the  version  is  made  must  often  hurt  the  energy  of  the  expression.  Saci, 
who  in  his  translation  hath  been  too  solicitous  to  Frenchify  the  style  of 
Scripture,  hath  made  nonsense  of  the  first  passage,  and  (to  say  the  leastl 


356  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OP   RHETORIC. 

is  no  beauty.  Witliout  perspicuity,  words  are  not  signs — 
they  are  empty  sounds ;  speaking  is  beating  the  air,  and  the 
most  fluent  declaimer  is  but  as  a  sounding  brass  and  a  tink- 
ling cymbal. 

Yet  there  are  a  sort  and  a  degree  of  obscurity  which  ought 
not  to  be  considered  as  falling  under  this  censure.  I  speak 
not  of  those  sentences  wherein  more  is  meant  than  meets 
the  ear.  the  literal  meaning  being  intended  purely  to  suggest 
a  farther  meaning,  which  the  speaker  had  chiefly  in  view.  I 
gave  some  examples  in  this  way  when  on  the  subject  of  per- 
spicuity, and  showed  that  they  are  not  to  be  regarded  as  ex- 
ceptions from  the  rule.*  But  what  I  here  principally  alluded 
to  is  a  species  of  darkness,  if  I  may  call  it  so,  resulting  from 
an  excess  of  vivacity  and  conciseness,  which,  to  a  certain 
degree,  in  some  sorts  of  composition,  is  at  least  pardonable. 
In  the  ode,  for  instance,  the  enthusiastic  fervour  of  the  poet 
naturally  carries  him  to  overlook  those  minutenesses  in  lan- 
guage on  which  perspicuity  very  much  depends.  It  is  to 
abruptness  of  transition,  boldness  of  figure,  laconism  of  ex- 
pression, the  congenial  issue  of  that  frame  of  mind  in  which 
the  piece  is  composed,  that  we  owe  entirely  the 

"  Thoughts  that  breathe  and  words  that  burn." 

Hence  proceeds  a  character  of  the  writing,  which  may  not 
unhappily  be  expressed  in  the  words  of  Milton,  "  dark  with 
excessive  light."  I  have  compared  vivacity  produced  by  a 
happy  conciseness  to  the  splendour  occasioned  by  concen- 
tring sunbeams  into  a  little  spot.  Now  if  by  means  of  this 
the  light  is  rendered  dazzling,  it  is  no  more  a  fit  medium  for 
viewing  an  object  in  than  too  weak  a  light  would  be.  Though 
the  causes  be  contrary,  the  eifects  are  in  this  respect  the 

hath  greatly  enervated  the  second.  The  first  he  renders  in  such  a  manner  aa 
implies  that  .Toab  had  killed  Abner  and  Amasa  oftener  than  once.  "  Ayant 
repandu  leur  sang"  (lesangd'Abner  et  d'Amasa)  "durant  la  paix,  comme  il 
avoit  fait  durant  la  guerre."    A  terrible  man  this  Joab, 

"  And  thrice  he  routed  all  his  foes,  and  thrice  he  slew  the  slain." 
The  other  passage  he  renders  "  Elle  n'a  point  mange  son  pain  dans  I'oisive- 
te."  The  meaning  is  very  indistinctly  expressed  here.  Can  a  slugg:ard  be 
said  to  be  idle  when  eating?  or  does  the  most  industrious  disposition  re- 
quire that  in  the  time  of  eating  one  should  be  employed  in  something  else? 
Such  a  translation  as  this  is  too  free  to  exhibit  the  style  of  the  original,  too 
literal  to  express  the  sense,  and,  therefore,  is  unlucky  enough  to  hit  neither. 
Diodati  hatli  succeeded  better  in  both.  The  last  he  renders  literally  as  we 
do,  and  the  first  in  this  manner:  "Spandendo  in  tempo  di  pace,  il  sangue 
che  si  spande  in  battaglia."  This  clearly  enough  exhibits  the  sense, and  is 
sufficiently  literal.  The  meaning  of  the  other  passage,  stripped  of  the  id- 
iom, and  expressed  in  plain  English,  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  this: 
"  She  eateth  not  the  bread  which  she  hath  not  earned."  In  many  cases  it 
may  be  difficult  to  say  whether  propriety  or  energy  should  have  the  pref- 
erence. I  tlnnk  it  safer  in  every  dubious  case  to  secure  th*^  former. 
*  Book  ii.,  chap,  viii.,  sect,  ii. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  357 

«ame.  Objects  in  both  are  seen  indistinctly.  But  the  cases 
to  which  this  observation  is  applicable  are  extremely  few. 

Indeed,  the  concise  manner  in  any  form  is  not  alike  adapt- 
ed to  every  subject.  There  are  some  subjects  which  it  par- 
ticularly suits.  For  example,  the  dignity  and  authority  of  the 
perceptive  style  receives  no  small  lustre  from  brevity.  In 
the  following  words  of  Michael  to  Adam,  how  many  impor- 
tant lessons  are  couched  in  two  lines  ] 

'Nor  love  thy  life,  nor  hate  ;  but  what  thoi  liv'st, 
Live  well ;  how  long  or  short,  permit  to  Heaven."* 

The  aphoristic  style,  and  the  proverbial,  i-eceive  likewise 
consfderable  strength  from  the  laconic  manner.  Indeed, 
tlvese  two  styles  differ  from  each  other  only  as  the  one  con- 
veys the  discoveries  in  science,  and  the  other  the  maxims  of 
common  life.  In  Swift's  detached  thoughts  we  find  a  few 
specimens  of  t4H»  manner.  "The  power  of  fortune  is  con- 
fessed by  the  miserable  ;  the  happy  ascribe  all  their  success 
to  merit" — "  Every  man  desires  to  lire  long ;  but  no  man 
would  be  old" — "  A  nice  man  is  a  man  of  nasty  ideas" — "  The 
sluggard,"  saith  Solomon,  "  hideth  his  hand  in  his  bosom  ;  it 
grieveth  him  to  bring  it  to  his  mouth"! — "The  desire  of  the 
slothful  killeth  him,  for  his  hands  refuse  to  labour"J — "  A 
fool,"  says  the  son  of  Sirach,  "travaileth  with  a  word,  as  a 
woman  in  labour  of  a  child."^  It  is  indeed  true,  that  a  great 
degree  of  conciseness  is  scarcely  attainable  unless  the  style 
be  figurative  ;  but  it  is  also  true,  that  the  vivacity  of  the  ex- 
pression is  not  to  be  attributed  solely  to  the  figure,  but  partly 
to  the  brevity  occasioned  by  the  figure.  But  though  the  com- 
bination of  the  figurative  with  the  concise  is  very  common, 
it  is  not  necessary.  This  will  appear  from  some  of  the  ex- 
amples already  given,  wherein,  though  we  discover  a  happy 
comprehension  of  a  great  deal  of  meaning  in  little  compass, 
there  is  neither  trope  nor  figure ;  nor,  indeed,  is  there  either 
of  these  in  the  picture  that  Swift  gives  of  himself,  where  he 
says,  "  I  am  too  proud  to  be  vain,"  in  which  simphcity,  per- 
spicuity, and  vivacity  are  all  happily  united.  An  inferior 
writer,  m  attempting  to  delineate  fully  the  same  character, 
would  have  employed  many  sentences,  and  not  have  said  near 
so  much.  Farther,  the  writer  on  politics  often  avails  himself 
of  a  sententious  conciseness,  which  adds  no  little  energy  to 
the  sentiments  he  unfolds.  Of  the  successful  application  of 
brevity  in  this  way,  we  have  an  excellent  model  in  the  Spirit 
of  Laws.  It  hath  no  bad  effect,  if  used  sparingly,  even  in  nar- 
rative.|| 

*  Paradise  Lost.  t  Proverbs,  xxvi.,  15. 
t  Ibid.,  xxi.,  25.                                                      ()  Eccles.,  xxi ,  II. 

*  'J'he  veni,  vidi,  vici  of  Capsar  derives  hence  Us  principal  beauty  ;  I  came, 
I  saw,  I  conquered,  is  not  equal.  So  small  a  circumstance  as  the  repetition 
of  the  pronoun,  without  which  the  sentence  in  our  language  would  appear 
maimed,  takes  much  froin  its  vivacitv  and  force. 


358  THE    PFIILOSOPIIY    OF    RHETORIC. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  kinds  of  writing  which  are  less  sus- 
ceptible of  this  ornament  are  the  descriptive,  the  pathetic,  the 
declamatory,  especially  the  last.  It  is,  besides,  much  more 
suitable  in  writing  than  in  speaking.  A  reader  has  the  com- 
mand of  his  time  ;  he  may  read  fast  or  slow,  as  he  finds  con- 
venient ;  he  can  peruse  a  sentence  a  second  time  when 
necessary,  or  lay  down  the  book  and  think.  But  if,  in  ha- 
ranguing to  the  people,  you  comprise  a  great  deal  in  few 
words,  the  hearer  must  have  uncommon  quickness  of  appre- 
hension to  catch  your  meaning,  before  you  have  put  it  out  ol 
his  power  by  engaging  his  attention  to  something  else.  In 
such  orations,  therefore,  it  is  particularly  unseasonable  ;  and 
by  consequence,  it  is,  in  all  kinds  of  writing  addressed  to  the 
people,  more  or  less  so,  as  they  partake  more  or  less  of 
popular  declamation. 

SECTION  II. 

THE    PRINCIPAL    OFFENCES    AGAINST    BREVITY    CONSIDERED. 

But  though  this  energetic  brevity  is  not  adapted  alike  to 
every  subject,  we  ought  on  every  subject  to  avoid  its  con- 
trary, a  languid  redundancy  of  words.  It  is  sometimes 
proper  to  be  copious,  but  never  to  be  verbose-  I  shall,  there- 
fore, now  consider  some  of  the  principal  faults  against  that 
quality  of  style  of  which  I  have  been  treating. 

Part  I.    Tautology. 

The  first  I  shall  take  notice  of  is  the  tautology,,  which  is 
either  a  repetition  of  the  same  sense  in  diflferent  words,  or  a 
representation  of  anything  as  the  cause,  condition,  or  conse- 
quence of  itself.  Of  the  first,  which  is  also  the  least,  take 
the  following  example  from  Addison  : 

"  The  dawn  is  overcast — the  morning  lours  ; 
And — heavily  in  clouds  brings  on  the  day."* 

Here  the  same  thought  is  represented  thrice  in  different 
words.  Of  the  last  kind  I  shall  produce  a  specimen  from 
Swift.  "I  look  upon  it  as  my  duty,  so  far  as  God  hath 
enabled  me,  and  as  long  as  I  keep  within  the  bounds  of 
truth,  of  duty,  and  of  decency."!  It  would  be  strange  indeed 
that  any  man  should  think  it  his  duty  to  transgress  the 
bounds  of  duty.  Another  example  from  the  same  hand  you 
have  in  the  words  which  follow  :  "  So  it  is,  that  I  must  be 
forced  to  get  home,  partly  by  stealth  and  partly  hy  force. "% 
"  How  many  are  there,"  says  Bolingbroke,  "by  whom  these 
tidings  of  good  news  were  never  heard  V^  This  is  tidings  ol 
tidings,  or  news  of  news.     "  Never  did  Atticus  succeed  better 

*  Cato.  t  Letter  to  Lord  Littletoa 

:  Letter  to  Mr.  Sheridan..  ^  Ph.  Fr..  38 


THE  rniLosoniY  of  RHETORrc.  359 

m  gaining  the  universal  love  and  esteem  of  all  men."*  Eitlier 
of  the  two  words  in  italics  might  liuve  been  used,  but  not 
both. 

It  is  also  considered  as  of  the  nature  of  tautology  to 
lengthen  a  sentence  by  coupling  words  altogether  or  nearly 
synonymous,  whether  they  be  substantives  or  adjectives, 
verbs  or  adverbs.  This  fault  is  very  common,  and  to  be 
found  even  in  our  best  writers.  "  In  the  Attic  common- 
wealth," says  Doctor  Swift,  "  it  was  \\\q  privilege  and  birthright 
of  every  citizen  and  poet  to  rail  aloud  and  in  publicJ"]  If  he 
had  said  simply,  "  In  the  Attic  commonwealth  it  was  the 
privilege  of  every  citizen  to  rail  in  public,"  the  sentence 
would  have  lost  nothing  of  the  sense.  And  it  is  an  invari- 
able maxim,  that  words  which  add  nothing  to  the  sense  or  to 
the  clearness  must  diminish  the  force  of  the  expression. 
There  are  certain  synonymas  which  it  is  become  customary 
with  some  writers  regularly  to  link  together,  insomuch  that 
a  reader  no  sooner  meets  with  one  of  them  than  ho  antici- 
pates the  introduction  of  its  usual  attendant.  It  is  needless 
to  quote  authorities ;  I  shall  only  produce  a  few  of  those 
couples  which  are  wont  to  be  thus  conjoined,  and  which 
every  English  reader  will  recollect  with  ease.  Such  are, 
plain  and  evident,  clear  and  obvious,  worship  and  adoration,  pleas- 
ure and  satisfaction,  bounds  and  limits,  suspicion  and  jealousy, 
courage  and  resolution,  intents  and  purposes.  The  frequent  re- 
currence of  such  phrases  is  not,  indeed,  more  repugnant  to 
vivacity  than  it  is  to  dignity  of  style. 

But  is  there  no  occasion  on  which  synonymous  words  may 
be  used  properly  1  I  answer,  There  ai-e  two  occasions  ;  and 
I  do  not  at  present  recollect  any  other.  One  is,  when  an  ob- 
scurer term,  which  we  cannot  avoid  employing,  on  account 
of  some  connexion  with  what  either  precedes  or  follows, 
needs  to  be  explained  by  one  that  is  clearer.  The  other  is, 
when  the  language  of  the  passions  is  exhibited.  Passion 
naturally  dwells  on  its  object :  the  impassioned  speaker 
always  attempts  to  rise  in  expression ;  but  when  that  is  im- 
practicable, he  recurs  to  repetition  and  synonymy,  and  there- 
by, in  some  measure,  produces  the  same  effect.  The  hearer, 
perceiving  him,  as  it  were,  overpowered  by  his  subject,  and 
at  a  loss  to  find  words  adequate  to  the  strength  of  his  feel- 
ings, is  by  sympathy  carried  along  with  him,  and  enters  into 
all  his  sentiments.  There  is  in  this  case  an  expression  in 
the  very  effort  shown  by  recurring  to  synonymas,  which  sup- 
plies the  deficiency  in  the  words  themselves.  Bolingbroke 
exclaims  in  an  invective  against  the  times,  "  But  all  is  little, 
and  low,  and  mean  among  us."|    It  must  be  owned  that  there 

•  Spectator,  No.  467,  Z.  t  Preface  to  the  Tale  of  a  Tub 

t  Spirit  of  Patriotism. 


360  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

is  here  a  kind  of  amplification,  or,  at  least,  a  stronger  expres- 
sion of  indignation,  than  any  oi>e  of  these  three  epithets 
could  have  effected  alone;  yet  there  is  no  climax  in  the 
sentence,  and  in  this  metaphorical  use  of  the  words  no  sensi 
ble  difference  of  signification.*  But  everybody  must  perceive 
that  this  manner  suits  only  the  popular  and  declamatory  style^ 
and  that  in  those  compositions  which  admit  no  species  of  the 
pathetic,  it  can  have  no  place. 

I  observe,  farther,  that  an  adjective  and  its  substantive  will 
sometimes  include  a  tautology.  This  happens  when  the  for- 
mer expresses  nothing  but  what  is  implied  in  the  signification 
of  the  latter:  "Let  them,"  says  the  craftsman,  "throw  as 
much  foul  dirt  at  me  as  they  please. "t  Of  the  same  stamp 
are  the  verdant  green,  the  umbrageous  shade,  the  sylvan  forest, 
expressions  not  frequently  to  be  met  with,  except,  perhaps, 
in  the  writings  of  some  of  our  minor  poets.  First  aggressors, 
standard-pattern,  suhject-rnatter,  and  some  few,  are  much  com 
moner,  but  deserve  to  be  exploded  for  the  same  reason. 

Lastly,  in  some  single  words  there  is  so  much  of  the  ap 
pearance  of  tautoh)gy,  that  they  ought,  in  prose  at  least,  ta 
be  avoided.  Such  are,  Most  highest,  icorser,  lesser,  chiefest, 
extremest,  for  Most  high,  ivorse,  less,  chief,  extreme.  The  first 
occurs  often  in  the  translation  of  the  Psalms  inserted  in  the 
liturgy,  and  has  thence  acquired  something  venerable  in  its 
appearance  ;%  the  second,  though  used  in  Shakspeare's  time, 
is  at  present  obsolete.  I  know  not  why  the  other  three  have 
not  before  now  shared  the  same  fate. 

Part  IL  Pleonasm. 
Another  trespass  against  this  species  of  vivacity  is  the 
pleonasm,  which  implies  barely  superfluity,  or  more  than 
enough.  Here,  though  the  words  do  not,  as  in  the  tautology, 
repeat  the  sense,  they  add  nothing  to  it.  For  instance 
"They  returned  hack  again  to  the  same  city //wn  whence 
they  came  forlh,''''  instead  of  "They  returned  to  the  city 
whence  they  came."  The  five  words  hack,  again,  same,  from, 
and  forth,  are  mere  expletives.  They  serve  neither  for  or- 
nament nor  for  use,  and  are  therefore  to  be  regarded  as  en- 
cumbrances.    "  I  went  home,"  says  the  Guardian,  "  full  of 

*  In  these  words  of  Cicero  concerning  Catiline,  "  Abiit,  excessit,  evasit, 
erupit,"  there  is  a  stranger  expression  of  triumph  than  in  any  of  them  singly. 

t  No^  232. 

X  It  is  to  this,  1  think,  solely,  that  the  approbation  of  those  whose  ears 
are  accustomed  to  that  expression  in  public  worship  is  to  be  ascribed,  and 
not,  as  Dr.  Lowth  supposes  [Inlrod.  Adject.],  to  a  singular  propriety  from 
the  subject  to  which  it  is  applied,  the  Supreme  Being,  who  is  higher  than 
the  highest.  For  if  this  reason  were  good,  we  should  also  find  a  singular 
propriety  in  the  phrases  most  wisrsf  and  most  best,  when  applied  to  God,  bo 
r;uise  he  is  as  certainly  wiser  than  the  wisest,  and  better  than  the  best. 
By  the  same  rule,  the  Suprpinesi  Being  would  be  a  title  much  w^re  e^nol'il- 
ical  than  the  Supreme  Beins. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    rvHETORIC.  361 

A  great  many  serious  reflections  ;"*  much  better,  "  full  of  se- 
rious reflections."  "  If  lie  happens,"  says  the  Spectator,  "  to 
have  any  leisure  upon  his  handsy]  To  what  purpose  ''upon 
his  hands  V  "  The  everlasting  chib,"  says  the  same  author, 
'•  treats  all  other  clubs  with  an  eye  of  contempt,"^  for  "  treats 
all  other  clubs  with  contempt."  To  treat  iviih  the  eye  is  also 
chargeable  with  impropriety  and  vulgarism.  '*  Flavia,  who 
is  the  mamma,"  says  the  Taller,  "  has  all  the  charms  and  de- 
sires of  youth  still  about  her.''^  The  last  two  words  are  at 
le  ist  superfluous. 

In  such  a  phrase  as  this,  "I  wrote  a  letter  to  you  yester 
day,"  the  French  critics  w-ould  find  a  pleonasm,  because  it 
means  no  more  than  what  is  clearly  expressed  in  these  words, 
"I  wrote  to  you  yesterday."  Yet  in  the  last  form  there  is 
an  ellipsis  of  the  regimen  of  the  active  verb  ;  and  one  would 
imagine  that  the  supplying  of  an  ellipsis  could  never  consti- 
tute a  pleonasm.  It  is  at  least  certain,  that  where  the  sup- 
ply is  so  unnecessary  as  it  is  here,  it  is  better  to  follow  the 
usual  mode  of  speaking.  But  when  any  additional  circum- 
stance requires  the  insertion  of  a  noun,  the  nicest  judge  will 
not  condemn  the  expression  as  pleonastic  ;  as,  "  I  wrote  you 
a  long  letter  yesterday"  —  "  This  is  the  third  letter  I  have 
written  you  on  tlie  same  subject. "|| 

It  may  not  be  improper  here  to  reinark,  that  every  word 
that  is  accounted  an  expletive  doth  not  always  constitute  a 
pleonasm.  For  example,  the  do  and  the  did,  as  the  signs  of 
the  tenses,  are  frequently  necessary,  and  sometimes  em- 
phatical.  The  idiom  of  the  language  renders  them  for  the 
most  part  necessary  in  negation  and  interrogation  ;  and  even 
in  affirmation  they  are  found  i!i  certain  circumstances  to  give 
an  emphasis  to  the  expression.  For  instance,  "  Did  I  object 
to  tliis  measure  formerly  ]  I  do  object  to  it  still."  Or, "  What 
I  did  publicly  afiirm  then,  I  do  aflirm  now,  and  I  will  affirm 
always."  The  contrast  of  the  different  tense  in  these  exam- 
ples is  more  precisely  marked  by  such  monosyllables  as  are 
intended  singly  to  point  out  that  circumstance,  than  they  can 
be  by  the  bare  inflections  of  the  verb.  The  particle  there, 
when  it  is  not  an  adverb  of  place,  may  be  considered  as  a 
kind  of  expletive,  since  we  cannot  assign  it  to  a  separate 

*  No.  34.  +  No.  43.  t  No.  73.  (>  No.  206. 

II  It  deserves  our  notice,  that  on  this  article  the  idiom  of  the  torigne  hath 
great  influence,  insomiicli  that  an  expression  in  one  language  may  contain 
a  pleonasm,  which,  it  literally  rendered  into  another,  would  expre^-*  no  more 
than  IS  quite  necessary.  Thus  llie  phrase  in  French,  "  II  lui  donna  des 
coups  do  sa  main,"  is  pleonastic  ;  but  there  is  no  pleonasm  in  these  words 
in  Knglish,  '•  He  gave  him  blows  with  his  hand."  On  the  contrary,  "11  lui 
donna  des  cnnps  de  main,"  is  proper  in  French.  "  Heg-'^vc  him  blows  with 
hand"  is  defective  in  English.  The  sense,  however,  may  be  expressed  m 
our  language  with  equal  propriety  and  greater  brevity  in  this  manner,  "  H» 
gave  him  handy  blows." 

Hh 


362  THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF    RHETORIC. 

sense.  Nevertheless,  it  is  no  pleonasm ;  for  though  it  is  not 
easy  to  define  in  words  the  import  of  such  terms,  yet  if  the 
omission  of  them  make  the  expression  appear  either  stiff  or 
defective,  they  are  not  to  be  regarded  as  useless. 

Lastly,  I  shall  observe  on  this  subject,  that  as  there  are 
some  single  words  which  have  I  know  not  what  air  of  tautol- 
ogy, there  are  some  also  which  have  a  pleonastic  appear- 
ance. Such  are  the  following,  unto,  until,  selfsame,  four  square, 
devoid,  despoil,  disannul,  muc/nvhat,  oflentimes,  nowadays,  down- 
fall, furthermore,  whereivilhal,  for  to,  till,  same,  square,  void 
spoil,  annul,  much,  often,  now,  fall,  further,  wherewith.  The 
use  of  such  terms  many  writers  have  been  led  into,  partly 
from  the  dislike  of  monosyllables,  partly  from  the  love  of 
variety.  The  last  end  it  hardly  answers,  as  the  simple  word 
is  still  included  ;  and  as  to  the  first,  I  am  persuaded  that  this 
dislike  hath  carried  some  modern  writers  to  the  other  ex- 
treme, and,  I  imagine,  the  worse  extreme  of  the  two.  It 
hath  proceeded  on  an  opinion,  which  I  shall  afterward  evince 
to  be  erroneous,  that  a  frequent  recurrence  of  monosyllablea 
is  inconsistent  with  harmony.  However,  with  regard  to  the 
words  specified,  it  would  not  be  right  to  preclude  entirely  the 
use  of  them  in  poetry,  where  the  shackles  of  metre  render 
variety  more  necessary,  but  they  ought  to  be  used  very  spa- 
ringly, if  at  all,  in  prose. 

It  is  worth  while  to  remark,  that  the  addition  of  a  short 
syllable  to  the  termination  of  a  word,  when  that  syllable  hath 
no  separate  signification,  doth  not  exhibit  the  appearance  of 
a  pleonasm,  which  any  syllable  prefixed,  or  a  long  one  add- 
ed, never  fails  to  exhibit.  Thus,  mountain,  fountain,  meadoiv, 
valley,  island,  climate,  are  as  good  as  mount,  fount,  mead,  x^ale., 
isle,  clime,  and  in  many  cases  preferable.  Indeed,  the  words 
fount,  mead,  vale,  and  clime  are  now  almost  confined  to  po- 
etry. Several  adjectives  may  in  like  manner  be  lengthened 
by  the  addition  of  an  unaccented  syllable,  as  ecclesiastical,  as- 
tronomical, philosophical,  grammatical,  from  ecclesiastic,  astro- 
nomic, philosophic,  grammatic ;  in  all  which,  if  the  choice  hi 
not  a  matter  of  absolute  indifference,  it  may  at  least  be  de- 
termined by  the  slightest  consideration  of  variety  or  of  sound 
Sometimes  custom  insensibly  assigns  different  meanings  to 
such  different  formations  as  in  the  words  comic  and  comical, 
tragic  and  tragical,  politic  and  political.  Though  the  words 
here  coupled  were  at  first  equally  synonymous  with  those 
before  mentioned,  they  are  not  entirely  so  at  present.  Tragii 
denotes  belonging  to  tragedy ;  tragical,  resembling  tragedy. 
The  like  holds  of  comic  and  comical.  We  say  "  the  tragic 
muse,  the  comic  muse  ;"  and  "  a  tragic  poet"  for  a  writer  of 
tragedy ;  "  a  comic  poet"  for  a  writer  of  comedy ;  but  "  1 
heard  a  tragical  story"  for  a  mournful  story ;  and  "  I  met  with 
a  comical  adventure"  for  a  droll  adventure.     We  sav  "  u  pal 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  363 

iiic  man"  for  an  artful  fellow,  but  a  political  writer  for  a  wri- 
ter on  politics.  There  is  not.  however,  a  perfect  imiforniity 
in  such  applications,  for  we  constantly  use  the  phrase  "the 
body  polilici"  and  not  political,  for  the  civil  society.  On  the 
whole,  however,  it  would  seem  that  what  is  affixed,  espe- 
cially when  unaccented,  is  conceived  as  more  closely  united 
to  the  word  than  what  is  prefixed  is  conceived  to  be.  In 
this  last  case  the  supernumerary  syllable,  if  il  make  no  change 
on  the  signification,  always  conveys  the  notion  of  an  exple- 
tive, which  is  not  suggested  in  the  first. 

But  before  I  quit  this  subject,  it  will  not  be  beside  the  pur- 
pose to  observe,  that  there  are  cases  in  wiiich  a  certain  spe- 
cies of  pleonasm  may  not  only  be  pardonable,  but  even  have 
a  degree  of  merit.  It  is  at  least  entitled  to  indulgence  when 
it  serves  to  express  a  pertinent  earnestness  of  affirmation  on 
an  interesting  subject,  as  in  phrases  like  these :  "  We  have 
seen  with  our  eyes,"  "  We  have  heard  with  our  ears,"  which, 
perhaps,  are  to  be  found  in  every  language.*  Again,  in  po- 
etical description,  where  the  fancy  is  addressed,  epithets 
which  would  otherwise  be  accounted  superfluous,  if  used 
moderately,  are  not  without  effect.  The  azure  heaven,  the 
silver  moon,  the  blushing  morn,  the  seagirt  isle.  Homer  abounds 
in  such.  They  often  occur,  also,  in  Sacred  Writ.  The  warm 
manner  of  the  ancient  Orientals,  even  in  their  prose  compo- 
sitions, holds  much  more  of  poesy  than  the  cold  prosaic  dic- 
tion of  us  moderns  and  Europeans.  A  stroke  of  the  pencil,  if  I 
may  so  express  myself,  is  almost  always  added  to  the  arbitra- 
ry sign,  in  order  the  more  strongly  to  attach  the  imagination. 
Hence  it  is  not  with  them,  the  leasts,  the  birds,  the  fish,  the 
heaven,  and  the  earth;  but  the  beasts  of  the  field,  the  birds  of  the 
air,  the  fish  of  the  sea,  the  heaven  above,  and  the  earth  beneath. 
But  though,  in  certain  cases,  there  is  some  indulgence  given 
to  terms  which  may  properly  be  styled  pleonastic,  I  scarcely 
think  that  an  epithet  which  is  merely  tautological  is  in  any 
case  tolerable. 

Part  HI.  Verbositi/. 
The  third  and  last  fault  I  shall  mention  against  a  vivid  con- 
ciseness is  verbosity.  This,  it  may  be  thought,  coincides 
with  the  pleonasm  already  discussed.  One  difference,  how- 
ever, is  this  :  in  the  pleonasm  there  are  words  which  add 
nothing  to  the  sense  ;  in  the  verbose  manner,  not  only  single 
words,  but  whole  clauses,  may  have  a  meaning,  and  yet  it 
were  better  to  omit  them,  because  what  they  mean  is  unim- 
portant. Instead,  therefore,  of  enlivening  the  expression, 
they  make  it  languish.  Another  difference  is,  that  in  a  prop- 
er pleonasm  a  complete  correction  is  always  made  by  razing. 

•  Vocemque  his  auribus  hausi.     Vidi  ante  oculos  ipse  meos 


_-^ 


364  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

This  Will  not  always  answer  in  the  verbose  style  ;  it  is  olten 
necessary  to  alter  as  well  as  blot. 

It  will  not  be  improper  here  farther  to  observe,  that  by  ver- 
losily  I  do  not  mean  the  same  thing  which  the  French  ex- 
press by  the  word  verbiage^  as  some  persons,  misled  by  ety- 
mology, may  be  inclined  to  think.  By  this  term  is  common- 
ly understood  a  parade  of  fine  words,  plausibly  strung  togeth- 
er, so  as  either  to  conceal  a  total  want  of  meaning,  or  to 
disguise  something  weak  and  inconclusive  in  the  reasoning. 
The  former,  with  which  alone  we  are  here  concerned,  is 
merely  an  offence  against  vivacity  ;  the  latter  is  more  prop- 
erly a  transgression  of  the  laws  of  perspicuity. 

One  instance  of  a  faulty  exuberance  of  words  is  the  in-  ■ 
temperate  nse  of  circumlocution.  There  are  circumstances 
wherein  this  figure  is  allowable,  there  are  circumstances 
wherein  it  is  a  beauty,  there  are  circumstances  wherein  it  is 
a  blemish.  We  indulge  it  often  for  the  sake  of  variety,  as 
when,  instead  of  ihe  women,  an  author  says  the  fair  sex,  or 
when,  instead  of  Ihe  sun,  a  poet  puts  the  lamp  of  day ;  we 
choose  it  sometimes  for  the  sake  of  decently,  to  serve  as  a 
sort  of  veil  to  what  ought  not  to  be  too  nakedly  exposed,  or 
for  the  sake  of  avoiding  an  expression  that  might  probably 
offend.*  Sometimes,  indeed,  propriety  requires  the  use  of 
circumlocution,  as  when  Milton  says  of  Satan,  who  had  been 
thrown  down  headlong  into  hell, 

"  Nine  times  the  space  that,  measures  day  and  night 
To  mortal  men,  he  wilh  his  horrid  crew 
Lay  vanquisb'd,  rolling  m  ihe  fiery  gulf/'f 

To  have  said  nine  days  and  nights  would  not  have  been  prop- 
er, when  talking  of  a  period  before  the  creation  of  the  sun, 
and,  consequently,  before  time  was  portioned  out  to  any  be- 
ing in  that  manner.  Sometimes  this  figure  serves,  as  it  were 
accidentally,  to  introduce  a  circumstance  which  favours  the 
design  of  the  speaker,  and  which  to  mention  of  plain  purpose, 
without  apparent  necessity,  would  appear  both  impertinent 
and  invidious.  An  example  I  shall  give  from  Swift:  "One 
of  these  authors  (Me  felloio  thai  was  pilloried,  I  have  forgot 
his  name)  is  so  grave,  sententious,  dogmatical  a  rogue,  that 
there  is  no  enduring  him."|  What  an  exquisite  antonoma- 
sia  have  we  in  this  parenthesis  !  Yet  he  hath  rendered  it  ap- 
parently necessary  by  his  saying,  "I  have  forgot  his  name." 
Sometimes  even  the  vivacity  of  the  expression  may  be  aug- 
mented by  a  periphrasis,  as  when  it  is  made  to  supply  the 
place  of  a  separate  sentence.  Of  this  the  words  of  Abraham 
afford  an  instance  :  "  Shall  not  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  do 
right  ]"^     The  Judge  of  all  the  earth  is  a  periphrasis  for  God, 

*  See  book  iii.,  chnp.  i.,  sect,  ii.,  part  iii.  t  Paradise  Lost,  b.  i 

i  Letters  concerning  the  Sacramental  Test.  ij  Gen.,  xviii ,  25. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RnETORIC.  365 

and.  as  it  lepresents  him  in  a  cliaracter  to  whicli  tlic  actintf 
unjustly  is  peculiarly  unsuitable,  it  serves  as  an  argunuMil  in 
support  of  the  sentiment,  and  is  therefore  conducive  even  to 
conciseness.  In  this  view  we  may  consider  that  noted  cir- 
cumlocution employed  by  Cicero,  wlio,  instead  of  saying 
simply,  Milo's  domestics  killed  Clodius,  says,  "They  did  that 
whicli  every  master  would  have  wished  his  servants  to  do  in 
such  an  exigence."*  It  is  far  from  being  enough  to  say  of 
this  passage  that  it  is  an  euphemism,  by  which  the  odious 
word  hilled  is  avoided.  It  contains,  also,  a  powerful  vindica- 
tion of  the  action,  by  an  appeal  to  the  conscience  of  every 
hearer,  whether  he  would  not  have  approved  it  in  his  own 
case.  But  when  none  of  these  ends  can  be  answered  by  a 
periphrastical  expression,  it  will  inevitably  be  regarded  as 
injuring  the  style  by  flattening  it.  Of  this  take  the  following 
example  from  the  Spectator  :  "  I  won't  say  we  see  often,  in 
the  next  tender  things  to  children,  tears  shed  without  much 
grieving."!  The  phrase  here  employed  appears,  besides,  af- 
fected and  far-fetched. 

Another  source  of  languor  in  the  style  is  when  such  claus- 
es are  inserted  as  to  a  superficial  view  appear  to  suggest 
something  which  heightens,  but,  on  reflection,  are  found  to 
presuppose  something  which  abates  the  vigour  of  the  senti- 
ment. Of  this  I  shall  give  a  specimen  from  Swift :  "  Neither 
is  any  condition  of  life  more  honourable  in  the  sight  of  God 
than  another,  otherwise  he  would  be  a  respecter  of  persons, 
u'hich  he  assu7-es  us  he  is  no<."J  It  is  evident  that  this  last 
clause  doth  not  a  little  enervate  tiie  thought,  as  it  implies  but 
too  plainly  that  without  this  assurance  from  God  himself  wc 
should  naturally  conclude  him  to  be  of  a  character  very  dif 
ferent  from  that  here  given  him  by  the  preacher. 

Akin  to  this  is  the  juvenile  method  of  loading  every  propo- 
sition with  asseverations.  As  such  a  practice  in  conversation 
more  commonly  infuseth  a  suspicion  of  the  speakers  veracity 
than  it  engages  the  belief  of  the  hearer,  it  hath  an  effect 
somewhat  similar  in  writing.  In  our  translation  of  the  Bible, 
God  is  represented  as  saying  to  Adam,  concerning  the  fruit 
of  the  tree  of  knowledge,  "  In  the  day  thou  eatest  thereof 
thou  shall  sitreh/  die/'J  The  adverb  surcbj,  instead  of  enfor- 
cing, enfeebles  the  denunciation.  My  reason  is  the  same  as 
in  the  former  case.  A  ground  of  mistrust  is  insinuated,  to 
which  no  aflirmation  is  a  counterpoise.  Are  such  adverbs, 
then,  never  to  be  used  \  Not  when  either  the  character  of 
the  speaker  or  the  evidence  of  the  thing  is  such  as  precludes 
the  smallest  doubt.  In  other  cases  they  are  pertinent  enough. 
But  as  taste  itself  is  influenced  by  custom,  and  as,  for  that 

*  «•  Fecenint  id  servi  Milonis— quod  suos  quisque  servos  in  tali  re  facera 
voluisset." — Cicero  pro  Mdonc.  +  No.  9,"). 

t  Sermon  on  Mutual  Subjection.  I)  Gen.,  ii.,  17. 

H  H  -2 


366  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

reason,  we  may  not  be  quick  in  discerning  a  fault  to  which 
our  ears  have  from  our  infancy  been  habituated,  let  us  con- 
sider how  it  would  affect  us  in  an  act  of  Parliament,  to  read 
that  the  offender  shall  for  the  first  offence  certainly  be  liable 
to  such  a  penalty,  and  for  the  second  he  shall  surely  incur 
such  another.  This  style  would  appear  intolerable  even  to 
one  of  ordinary  discernment.  Why  1  The  answer  is  obvi- 
ous. It  ill  suits  the  dignity  of  the  British  Senate  to  use  a 
manner  which  supposes  that  its  authority  or  power  can  be 
called  in  question.  That  which  hath  misled  our  translators 
in  the  passage  quoted,  as  in  many  others,  hath  been  an  at- 
tempt to  express  the  import  of  a  Hebraism,  which  cannot  be 
rendered  literally  into  any  European  tongue.  But  it  is  evi- 
dent that  they  have  not  sufficiently  attended  to  the  powers 
of  the  language  which  they  wrote.  The  English  hath  two 
futures,  no  inconsiderable  advantage  on  some  occasions,  both 
for  perspicuity  and  for  emphasis.  The  one  denotes  simply 
the  futurition  of  the  event,  the  other  also  makes  the  veracity 
and  power  of  the  speaker  vouchers  of  its  futurition.  The 
former  is  a  bare  declaration  ;  the  latter  is  always,  in  the  sec- 
ond person  and  the  third,  unless  when  used  imperatively, 
either  a  promise  or  a  threatening.  No  language  that  I  know 
exactly  hits  this  distinction  but  our  own.  In  other  lan- 
guages you  must  infer,  not  always  infallibly,  from  the  ten- 
our  of  the  story,  whether  the  future  is  of  the  one  import  or 
of  the  other ;  in  English  you  find  this  expressed  in  the  words.* 
Farther,  it  was  observed  that  afiirmalive  adverbs  are  no 
less  improper  when  doubt  is  entirely  precluded  by  the  evi- 
dence of  the  fact,  than  when  it  is  prevented  by  the  authority 
of  the  speaker.  I  have  given  an  example  of  the  latter,  and 
shall  now  produce  one  of  the  former.  An  Israelite  inform- 
ing David  concerning  Goliath,  is  represented  in  our  version 
as  saying,  "  Surely  to  defy  Israel  is  he  come  up."t     Had  the 

*  This  remark  needs,  perhaps,  a  farther  illustration,  and  in  order  to  this 
it  will  be  necessary  to  recur  to  some  other  language.  The  passage  quoted 
is  thus  translated  into  Latin  by  Castalio:  "  <S'i  ea  vescens,  ?noneic."  He 
judged  rigiit  not  to  add  ceri^  or  profecto  even  in  Latin.  Neither  of  these  ad- 
verbs could  have  rendered  the  e.Kpression  more  definite,  and  both  are  liable 
to  the  same  exception  with  the  English  adverb  surely.  Yet  take  the  ver- 
£ior.  a?  it  stands,  and  there  is  an  evident  ambiguity  in  the  word  moiiere.  It 
may  be  either  the  declaration  of  one  who  knew  that  there  was  a  poisonous 
quality  in  the  fruit,  and  meant  only  to  warn  Adam  of  his  danger  by  repre- 
senting the  natural  consequence  of  eating  it,  or  it  may  be  the  denunciation 
of  a  legislator  against  the  transgression  of  his  law.  Every  one  who  under- 
stands English  will  perceive  immediately  that,  on  the  first  supposition,  he 
must  render  the  words  into  our  language,  "  If  thou  eat  thereof  thou  wilt 
die;"  and  on  the  second  supposition,  he  must  render  them,  "If  thou  eat 
thereof  thou  shall  die."  If  there  be  anything  emphatical  in  the  original  id 
iom,  it  serves  here,  in  my  opinion,  to  mark  the  distinctiofTbetween  a  simple 
declaration  and  the  sanction  of  a  law,  which  are  perfectly  distinguished  in 
our  tongue  by  the  two  futures.  +  1  Sam.,  xvii..  25. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  367 

giant  shown  himself  between  the  camps,  and  used  menacing 
gestures,  or  spoken  words  which  nobody  understood,  this  ex- 
pression would  have  been  natural  and  proper.  But  no  man 
could  have  talked  in  this  manner  who  had  himself  been  a 
witness  that  every  day,  for  forty  days  successively,  this  cham- 
pion had  given  an  open  defiance  to  Israel  in  the  most  explicit 
terms,  and  in  the  audience  of  all  the  army.  Such  adverbs  al- 
ways weaken  an  asserfion  that  is  founded  on  the  evidence  of 
sense,  or  even  of  unexceptionable  testimony,  and  are  suited 
only  to  cases  of  conjecture  or  probability  at  most.  It  re- 
quires a  certain  justness  of  taste  to  know  when  we  have  said 
enough,  through  want  of  which,  when  we  attempt  to  say  more, 
we  say  less. 

Another  example,  of  a  nature  pretty  similar,  and  arising 
from  a  similar  cause,  is  the  manner  wherein  our  interpreters 
have  attempted,  in  the  New  Testament,  to  strengthen  the 
negation,  wherever  the  double  negative*  occurs  in  the  Greek, 
even  in  the  most  authoritative  threatenings,  by  rendering  it 
sometimes  in  no  case,  sometimes  in  no  xuise.  It  is  evident 
that,  in  such  instances,  neither  of  these  phrases  expresseth 
more  than  the  single  adverb  not,  and  as  they  partake  of  the 
nature  of  circumlocution,  and  betray  an  unsuccessful  aim  at 
saying  more,  they  in  eflfect  debilitate  the  expression.  The 
words  "  Ye  shall  not  enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven,"  as  they 
have  more  simplicity,  have  also,  from  the  mouth  of  a  legis- 
lator, more  dignity  and  weight  than  "  Ye  shall  in  no  case"  or 
"in  710  tvise  enter  into  it,"  as  though  there  were  various  ways 
and  means  of  getting  thither.  The  two  negatives  of  the 
Greek  are  precisely  on  the  same  footing  with  the  two#iega- 
tives  of  the  French  ;t  our  single  particle  not  is  a  full  equiva- 
lent for  both.  For  should  a  translator  from  the  French  at- 
tempt to  render  every  double  negative  by  such  a  pheriphrasis 
in  English,  his  version  would  be  justly  accounted  ridiculous. 
It  may  be  thouglit  a  consequence  of  this  doctrine,  that  the 
solemn  protestation,  "  Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you,"  so  often 
adopted  by  our  Lord,  would  rather  weaken  than  enforce  the 
sentiment.  But  the  case  is  different.  As  these  words  enter 
not  into  the  body  of  the  proposition,  but  are  employed  solely 
to  introduce  it,  they  are  to  be  considered  purely  as  a  call  to 
attention,  serving  not  so  much  to  affirm  the  reality,  as  the 
importance  of  what  is  to  be  said  Or  if  they  are  to  be  under- 
stood as  affirming  the  reality,  it  is  from  this  single  considera- 
tion, because  said  by  him. 

*   OV  (IT). 

+  Ne  pas  or  non  point.  Sometimes  the  French  use  even  three  negatives 
where  we  can  properly  employ  but  one  in  English,  as  in  this  sentence  •  "  Je 
ne  :iie  pas  quo  je  n^  I'aye  dil" — "  I  do  7iot.  deny  that  I  said  it."  I  believe  no 
man  who  understands  both  languages  will  pretend  that  the  negation  here  is 
expressed  more  strongly  by  them  than  by  us. 


368  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

I  add,  as  another  cause  of  a  languid  verbosity,  the  loading 
of  the  style  with  epithets,  when  almost  every  verb  liath  its 
attendant  adverb,  which  may  be  called  its  epithet,  and  every 
substantive  its  attendant  adjective,  and  when  both  adjectives 
and  adverbs  are  often  raised  to  the  superlative  degree.  Epi- 
thets used  sparingly  and  with  judgment  liave  a  great  effect 
in  enlivening  the  expression,  but  nothing  has  more  of  an  op- 
posite tendency  than  a  profusion  of  tliem.  That  such  pro- 
fusion has  this  tendency  may  be  deduced  partly  from  a  prin- 
ciple already  mentioned,  partly  from  a  principle  whicii  1  am 
going  to  observe.  That  already  mentioned  is,  that  they 
lengthen  the  sentence  without  adding  proportionable  strength. 
The  other  principle  is,  that  the  crowding  of  epithets  into  a 
discourse  betrays  a  violent  effort  to  say  something  extraor- 
dinary ;  and  nothing  is  a  clearer  evidence  of  weakness  than 
such  an  effort  when  the  effect  is  not  correspondent.  I  would 
not,  however,  be  understood  to  signify,  that  adjectives  and 
adverbs  are  always  to  be  regarded  as  mere  epithets.  What- 
ever is  necessary  for  ascertaining  the  import  of  either  noun 
or  verb,  whether  by  adding  to  the  sense  or  by  confining  it,  is 
something  more  than  an  epithet,  in  the  common  acceptation 
of  that  term.  Thus,  when  I  say  "  the  glorious  sun,"  the  word 
glorious  is  an  epithet,  because  it  expresses  a  quality  which, 
being  conceived  always  to  belong  to  the  object,  is,  like  all  its 
other  qualities,  comprehended  in  the  name ;  but  when  I  say 
"  the  meridian  sun,"  the  word  meridian  is  not  barely  an  epi- 
thet, because  it  makes  a  real  addition  to  the  signification, 
denoting  the  sun  in  that  situation  wherein  he  appears  at  noon. 
The  •ke  may  be  said  of  "  the  rising'"''  or  "  the  selling  sun." 
Again,  when  1  say  "the  lowering  eagle,"  I  use  an  epithet,  be- 
cause the  quality  (oivering  may  justly  be  attributed  to  all  the 
kind  ;  not  so  when  I  say  "  the  golden  eagle,"  because  the  ad- 
jective golden  serves  to  limit  the  sense  of  the  word  eagle  to 
one  species  only,  and  is,  therefore,  in  effect,  a  part  of  the 
name.  Let  it  not  be  imagined,  hence,  that  mere  epithets  are 
always  useless.  Though  all  the  essential  qualities  of  a  genus 
are  included  in  the  name,  the  scope  of  a  discourse  often  ren- 
ders it  important,  if  not  necessary,  that  some  particular  qual- 
ities should  be  specially  attended  to  by  the  hearer ;  and  these, 
by  consequence,  require  to  be  specified  by  the  speaker.  On 
the  contrary,  a  reduudancy  of  these  never  fails  to  give  a  tire- 
some sameness  to  the  composition,  where  substantives  and 
adjectives,  verbs  and  adverbs,  almost  invariably  strung  to- 
gether, offend  not  more  against  vivacity  than  against  harmo- 
ny and  elegance.*     This  vicious  quahty  of  style  is  som?- 

*  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  the  following  passage,  which  Roilin  has 
quoted  from  Mascaron  as  an  example  of  style  elevated  and  adorned  hy 
means  of  circumlocution  and  epithet,  is  justly  exceptionable  in  this  way ; 
"  Le  roi,  pour  donner  une  marque  immortelle  de  i'estimeel de  Tamitie  dent 


THE    PHILOSOPHV    OF    RIIETORrC.  369 

times  denom'mntei]  jta-e?iiliti/,  ns  dpiiotiiig  iminntiirity  of  jiidg- 
nuMit,  or  an  inexperience  like  ihat  which  would  tnakc  a  man 
mistake  corpulency  for  the  criterion  of  hoaltli  and  vifrour. 
Besides,  in  young  writers,  a  certain  luxuriance  in  words  i.-j 
both  more  frequent  and  mor(!  pardonable. 

There  is  one  kind  of  composition,  the  paraphrase,  of  whose 
style  verbosity  is  the  proper  ciiaracter.  The  professed  do- 
sign  of  the  paraphrasl  is  to  say  in  many  words  what  his  text 
expresseth  in  few  :  accordingly,  all  the  writtirs  of  this  class 
must  be  at  pains  to  provide  ihemsclves  in  sufiicient  stock  of 
synonymas,  epithets,  expletives,  circumlocution,  and  tautol 
ogies,  which  are,  in  fact,  the  necessary  implements  of  llieii 
craft.  I  took  notice,  when  treating  of  the  inlluencc  which 
the  choice  of  proper  terms  might  have  on  vivacity,  of  one 
method  of  depressing  their  subject  very  common  with  these 
men,  by  generalizing  as  much  as  possible  the  terms  used  in 
the  text.  The  particulars  just  now  recited  are  not  only  com- 
mon with  them,  but  essential  to  their  work.  I  shall  produce 
an  example  from  an  author  who  is  f;ir  from  deserving  to  be 
accounted  either  the  most  verbose  or  tlie  least  judicious  of 
the  tribe.  But,  first,  let  us  hear  his  text,  the  words  of  Jesus 
Christ:  Therefore,  ivlwsoever  heureth  these  sayings  of  mine,  and 
doelh  them,  I  luill  liken  him  to  a  icise  man,  who  hmlt  his  house 
upo7i  a  rock ;  and  the  rain  descended,  and  the  floods  came,  and  the 
loinds  hlew,  and  heat  upon  that  house,  and  it  fell  not ;  for  it  was 
fmnded  upon  a  rock.^^*  Now  let  us  hear  the  paraphrasl  : 
"  Wherefore  he  that  shall  not  only  hear  and  receive  these  my 
instructions,  but  also  remember,  and  consider,  and  practise,  and 
lice  according  to  them,  such  a  man  may  be  compared  to  one 
that  builds  his  house  upon  a  rock  ;  for  as  a  house  founded 
upon  a  rock  stands  unshaken  and  firm  against  all  the  assaults 
of  rains,  and  floods,  and  storins,  so  the  man  who,  in  his  life 
and  conversation,  actually  practises  and  obeys  my  instructions, 
will_^/77z/y  resist  all  the  temptations  of  the  devil,  the  allure- 
ments of  pleasure,  and  the  terrors  of  persecution,  and  shall 
be  able  to  stand  in  the  day  of  judgment,  and  be  rewarded  of 
God."t  It  would  be  difficult  to  point  out  a  single  advantage 
which  this  wordy,  not  to  say  flatulent,  interpretation  hath  of 

il  honoioit  ce  grand  capitaine  (M.  dc  Turenne),  donne  une  place  illustre  a 
ses  glorieiises  cendres,  partni  ces  maiires  de  la  terre,  qui  conservtnt  encore 
dans  la  magnificence  de  ieurs  tombeaiix  une  image  de  celie  de  ieurs  trones." 
The  kin<;,  ihat  he  may  give  an  immortal  mark  of  ihr  esteem  and  friendship  where- 
with he  lionoured  this  great  captain,  gives  an  illustrious  place  to  his  qlorioits-  nshcs 
among  those  masters  of  the  earth  who  still  preserve,  in.  the  magnificence  of  their 
tombs,  an  image  of  that  of  their  thrones. — Bel.  Let.,  liv.  iii.,  chap,  iii.,  art.  ii., 
i)  5.  hi  the  quick  succession  of  such  yokemates  as  these,  immortal  mark, 
great  captain,  illustrious  place,  glorious  ashes,  magnificeut  tombs,  there  appears 
a  strong  attempt  towards  the  grand  manner,  which,  after  all,  terminates  in 
the  tumid. 

»  Matt.,  vii.,  ^4  and  25.  t  Dr.  Clarke 


370  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

the  text.  Is  it  more  perspicuous?  It  is  much  less  so;  al- 
though it  is  the  chief,  if  not  the  sole  end  of  this  manner  of 
writing,  to  remove  everything  that  can  darken  the  passage 
paraphrased,  and  to  render  the  sense  as  clear  as  possible. 
But,  lest  this  censure  should  be  thought  rash,  lej;  it  be  ob- 
served that  two  things  are  clearly  distinguished  in  the  text, 
which  are  in  themselves  certainly  distinct,  to  hear  the  com- 
mands of  our  Master,  and  to  obe%j  them.  There  was  the 
greater  need  that  this  distinction  should  be  properly  preserv- 
ed, because  it  was  the  plain  intention  of  the  speaker  to  con- 
trast those  who  heard  and  obeyed  with  those  who  heard  but 
obeyed  not,  as  we  learn  from  the  similitude  contained  in  the 
two  following  verses.*  Yet  this  primary  distinction  is  con- 
founded in  the  paraphrase  by  a  multitude  of  words  partly 
synonymous,  partly  different  in  signification.  Thus,  for  who- 
soever heareth  these  sayings  of  mine,  and  doeth  them,  we  have 
"him  that  hears,  and  receives,  and  remembers,  and  consid- 
ers, and  actually  practises,  and  obeys  these  my  instructions, 
and  lives  according  to  them."  I  might  allege,  as  another  in- 
stance of  the  want  of  perspicuity,  that  the  duty  and  the  re- 
ward are  strangely  blended  throughout  the  vi^hole.  A  defi- 
ciency of  words  is,  no  doubt,  oftener  than  the  contrary,  a 
cause  of  obscurity ;  but  this  evil,  as  I  had  occasion  formerly 
to  remark,  may  also  be  the  effect  of  an  exuberance.  By  a 
multiplicity  of  words  the  sentiment  is  not  set  off  and  accom- 
modated, but,  like  David  equipped  in  Saul's  armour,  it  is  en- 
cumbered and  oppressed. 

Yet  this  is  not  the  only,  or,  perhaps,  the  worst  conse- 
quence resulting  from  this  manner  of  treating  sacred  writ. 
We  are  told  of  the  torpedo,  that  it  has  the  wonderful  quality 
of  benumbing  everything  it  touches.  A  paraphrase  is  a  tor- 
pedo. By  its  influence  the  most  vivid  sentiments  become 
hfeless,  the  most  sublime  are  flattened,  the  most  fervid  chill- 
ed, the  most  vigorous  enervated.  In  the  very  best  composi- 
tions of  this  kind  that  can  be  expected,  the  Gospel  may  be 
compared  to  a  rich  wine  of  a  high  flavour,  diluted  in  such  a 
quantity  of  water  as  renders  it  extremely  vapid.  This  would 
be  the  case  if  the  paraphrase  (which  is  indeed  hardly  possi- 
ble) took  no  tincture  from  the  opinions  of  the  paraphrast,but 
exhibited  faithfully,  though  insipidly,  the  sense  of  the  Evan 
gelist.  Whereas,  in  all  those  paraphrases  we  have  had  oc- 
casion to  be  acquainted  with,  the  Gospel  may  more  justly  be 
compared  to  such  a  wine,  so  much  adulterated  with  a  liquor 
of  a  very  different  taste  and  quality  that  httle  of  its  original 
relish  and  properties  can  be  discovered.  Accordingly,  in  one 
paraphrase  Jesus  Christ  appears  a  bigoted  Papist ;  in  anoth- 
er, a  flaming  Protestant :  in  one  he  argues  with  all  the  soph 

*  Verses  26  and  27. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF  RHETORIC.  371 

istry  of  llie  Jesiht;  iu  another,  he  declaims  with  all  the  fa- 
naticism of  the  Jansenist :  in  one,  you  trace  the  metaphys- 
ical ratiocinations  oi' Arminiiis ;  in  another,  you  recognise 
the  bold  conclusions  of  Gomarus  ;  and  in  each,  you  hear  the 
language  of  a  man  wlio  has  tlioroughly  imbibed  the  system 
q(  one  or  other  of  our  Christian  rabbis.  So  various  and  so 
opposite  are  the  characters  which,  in  those  performances, 
our  Lord  is  made  to  exhibit,  and  the  dialects  which  he  is 
made  to  speak.  How  different  is  his  own  character  and  dia- 
lect from  them  all !  If  we  are  susceptible  of  the  impartiality 
requisite  to  constitute  us  proper  judges  in  these  matters,  we 
shall  find  in  him  nothing  that  can  be  thought  to  favour  the 
subtle  disquisitions  of  a  sect.  His  language  is  not,  like  that 
of  all  dogmatists,  the  language  of  a  bastard  philosophy,  which, 
under  the  pretence  of  methodizing  religion,  hath  corrupted 
it,  and,  in  less  or  more,  linged  all  the  parties  into  which 
Christendom  is  divided.  His  language  is  not  so  much  the 
language  of  the  head  as  of  the  heart.  His  object  is  not  sci- 
ence, but  wisdom  ;  accordingly,  his  discourses  abound  more 
in  sentiments  than  in  opinions.* 

But  I  have  digressed  from  my  subject,  and  shall  therefore 
return  to  it  by  observing,  that  another  species  of  verbosity, 
and  the  only  one  which  remains  to  be  taken  notice  of,  is  a 
prolixity  in  narration  arising  from  the  mention  of  unneces- 
sary circumstances.  Circumstances  may  be  denominated 
unnecessary  either  because  not  of  such  importance  as  that 
the  scope  of  the  relation  is  affected  by  their  being  known,  or 
because  implied  in  the  other  circumstances  related.     An  er- 

*  I  would  not  be  understood  to  signify  by  this  censure  that  paraphrase 
can  never  be  a  useful  mode  of  expHcation,  though  1  own  that,  in  my  opin- 
ion, the  cases  wherein  it  may  be  reckoned  not  improper  nor  aitogeiher  un- 
useful  are  not  numerous.  As  the  only  valuable  aim  of  this  species  of  com- 
mentary is  to  give  greater  perspicuity  to  an  original  work,  obscurity  is  the 
only  reasonable  pica  for  employing  it.  When  the  style  is  very  concise  or 
figurative,  or  when  there  is  an  allusion  to  customs  or  incidents  now  or  here 
not  generally  known,  to  add  as  much  as  is  necessary  for  supplying  an  ellip- 
sis, explaining  an  unusual  figure,  or  suggesting  an  imknown  fact  or  mode 
alluded  to,  may  serve  to  render  a  performance  more  intelligible,  without  ta- 
king much  from  its  energy.  But  if  the  use  and  occasions  of  paraphrase  are 
only  such  as  have  been  now  represetited,-it  is  evident  that  there  are  but  a 
few  books  of  Scripture,  and  but  certain  portions  of  those  few,  that  require 
to  be  treated  in  this  manner.  The  notions  which  the  generality  of  para- 
phrasts  (I  say  not  all)  entertain  on  this  subject  arc  certainly  very  different. 
If  we  may  judge  from  their  productions,  we  should  naturally  conclude  that 
they  have  considered  such  a  size  of  subject  maitrr  (if  I  may  be  indulged  this 
once  in  the  expression)  as  affording  a  proper  foundation  for  a  composition 
of  such  a  magnitude  ;  and  have,  therefore,  laid  it  down  as  a  maxim,  from 
which,  in  their  practice,  they  do  not  often  depart,  that  the  most  commodi- 
ous way  of  giving  to  their  work  the  extent  proposed,  is  that  equal  portions 
of  the  text  (perspicuous  or  obscure,  it  matters  not)  should  be  spun  out  to 
equal  length.  Thus  regarding  only  quantity,  thev  view  their  text,  and  par- 
cel it,  treating  it  in  much  the  same  manner  as  goldbeaters  and  wiredrawers 
treat  the  metals  on  which  their  art  is  employed. 


372  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC 

ror  of  the  former  kind  belongs  properly  to  the  thought,  of  the 
latter  to  the  language.  For  the  first,  when  it  is  habitual,  a 
man  is  commonly  styled  loquacious  ;  for  the  second,  verbose. 
Such  a  sentence  as  the  following  would  be  an  instance  of 
the  second ;  for  with  the  first  1  am  not  here  concerned. 
"  On  receiving  this  information,  he  arose,  went  out,  saddled 
his  horse,  mounted  him,  and  rode  to  town."  All  is  impHed 
in  saying,  "  On  receiving  this  information,  he  rode  to  town." 
This  manner,  however,  in  a  certain  degree,  is  so  strongly 
characteristic  of  the  uncultivated,  but  unaffected  style  of  re- 
mote ages,  that  in  books  of  the  highest  antiquity,  particularly 
the  second  code,  it  is  not  at  all  ungraceful.  Of  this  kind  are 
the  following  scriptural  phrases  :  He  lifted  up  his  voice  and  tvept. 
She  conceived  and  bore  a  son.  He  opened  his  moulh  and  said. 
For  my  own  part,  I  should  not  approve  the  delicacy  of  a 
translator  who,  to  modernize  the  style  of  the  Bible,  should 
repudiate  every  such  redundant  circumstance.  It  is  true 
that,  in  strictness,  they  are  not  necessary  to  the  narration, 
but  they  are  of  some  importance  to  the  composition,  as  bear- 
ing the  venerable  signature  of  ancient  simplicity.  And  in  a 
faithful  translation,  there  ought  to  be  not  only  a  just  trans- 
mission of  the  writer's  sense,  but,  as  far  as  is  consistent  with 
perspicuity  and  the  idiom  of  the  tongue  into  which  the  ver- 
sion is  made,  the  character  of  the  style  ought  to  be  preserved. 
So  much  for  the  vivacity  produced  by  conciseness,  and 
those  blemishes  in  style  which  stand  in  opposition  to  it,  tau- 
tology, pleonasm,  and  verbosity. 


CHAPTER  III. 

OF  VIVACITY,    AS   DEPENDING    ON    THE    ARRANGEMENT    OF   THE 
WORDS. 

SECTION  I. 

OF    THE    NATURE    OF   ARRANGEMENT,    AND    THE    PRINCIPAL    DIVISION    Oi 
SENTENCES. 

Having  already  shown  how  far  vivacity  depends  either  on 
the  words  themselves  or  on  their  number,  I  come  now,  last- 
ly, to  consider  how  it  is  affected  by  their  arrangement. 

This,  it  must  be  owned,  hath  a  very  considerable  influence 
in  all  languages,  and  yet  there  is  not  anything  which  it  is 
more  difficult  to  regulate  by  general  laws.  The  placing  of 
the  Vvords  in  a  sentence  resembles,  in  some  degree,  the  dis- 
position of  the  figures  in  a  history-piece.  As  the  principal 
figure  ought  to  have  that  situation  in  the  picture  which  will, 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  373 

at  the  first  glance,  fix  tlie  eye  of  the  spectator,  so  the  em- 
phnlicalword  ouglit  lo  have  tliat  place  in  the  sentence  which 
will  jTJve  it  the  greatest  advantage  for  fixing  the  attention  of 
the  hearer.  But  in  painting  there  can  rarely  arise  a  doubt 
concerning  cither  the  principal  figure  or  the  principal  place, 
whereas  here  it  is  otherwise.  In  many  sentences  it  may  be 
a  question,  both  what  is  the  word  on  which  the  emphasis 
ought  to  rest,  and  what  is  the  situation  which  (to  use  the 
language  of  painters)  will  give  it  the  highest  relief.  In  most 
cases,  both  of  simple  narration  and  of  reasoning,  it  is  not  of 
great  consequence  to  determine  either  point ;  in  many  cases 
it  is  impossible.  Besides,  in  English  and  other  modern  lan- 
guages, tlie  speaker  doth  not  enjoy  that  boundless  latitude 
wiiich  an  orator  of  Athens  or  of  Home  enjoyed  when  ha- 
ranguing in  the  language  of  jiis  country.  With  us,  wlio  ad- 
mit very  few  inflections,  the  construction,  and,  consequently, 
the  sense,  depend  almost  entirely  on  the  order.  With  the 
Greeks  and  the  Romans,  wlio  abound  in  inflections,  the  sense 
often  remains  unalterable,  in  whatever  order  you  arrange  the 
words. 

But,  notwithstanding  the  disadvantage  which,  in  this  re- 
spect, we  Britons  labour  under,  our  language  even  here  al- 
lows as  much  liberty  as  will,  if  we  know  how  to  use  it,  be 
of  great  service  for  invigorating  the  expression.  It  is  true, 
indeed,  that  when  neither  the  imagination  nor  the  passions 
of  the  hearer  are  addressed,  it  is  hazardous  in  the  speaker  to 
depart  from  the  practice  which  generally  obtains  in  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  words ;  and  that  even  though  the  sense 
should  not  be  in  the  least  afte.cted  by  the  transposition.  The 
temperament  of  our  language  is  phlegmatic,  like  that  of  our 
climate.  When,  therefore,  neither  the  liveliness  of  repre- 
sentation nor  the  warmth  of  passion  serve,  as  it  were,  to 
cover  the  trespass,  it  is  not  safe  to  leave  the  beaten  track. 
Whatever  is  supposed  to  be  written  or  spoken  in  a  cool  and 
temperate  mood,  must  rigidly  adhere  to  the  established  order, 
which  with  us,  as  I  observed,  allows  but  little  freedom.  What 
is  said  will  otherwise  inevitably  be  exposed  to  the  censure 
oi~  quaintness  and  affectation,  than  which,  perhaps,  no  cen- 
sure can  do  greater  prejudice  to  an  orator.  But  as  it  is  in- 
dtitrillible  that  in  many  cases  both  composition  and  arrange- 
ment may,  without  incurring  reproach,  be  rendered  greatly 
subservient  to  vivacity,  I  shall  make  a  few  observations  on 
these,  which  1  purpose  to  illustrate  with  proper  examples. 

Composition  and  arrangement  in  sentences,  though  nearly 
connected,  and,  therefore,  properly  in  this  place  considered 
together,  are  not  entirely  the  same.  Composition  includes 
arrangement  and  something  more.  When  two  sentences 
dilTer  only  in  arrangement,  the  sense,  the  words,  and  the  con- 
struction are  the  same  ;  when  they  diflor  also  in  other  arti 

Ij      " 


374  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC 

cles  of  composition,  there  must  be  some  difference  in  the 
words  themselves,  or,  at  least,  in  the  manner  of  construing 
tliem.  But  I  shall  have  occasion  to  illustrate  this  distinction 
in  the  examples  to  be  afterw^ard  produced. 

Sentences  are  either  simple  or  complex  :  simple,  consist 
ing  of  one  member  only,  as  this:  "'In  the  beginning,  God 
created  the  heaven  and  the  earth  ;*  complex,  consisting  of 
two  or  more  members  linked  together  by  conjunction,  as 
this:  "Doubtless  thou  art  our  father,  j  though  Abraham  be 
ignorant  of  us,  |  and  Israel  acknowledge  us  not."f  In  the 
composition  of  the  former,  we  have  only  to  consider  the  dis- 
tribution of  the  words  ;  in  that  of  the  latter,  regard  must  also 
be  had  to  the  arrangement  of  the  members.  The  members, 
too,  are  sometimes  complex,  and  admit  a  subdivision  into 
clauses,  as  in  the  following  example  :  "The  ox  knoweth  his 
owner,  |  and  the  ass  his  master's  crib ;  but  Israel  doth  not 
know,  I  my  people  doth  not  consider. "J  This  decompound 
sentence  hath  two  members,  each  of  which  is  subdivided  into 
two  clauses.  When  a  member  of  a  complex  sentence  is  sim- 
ple, having  but  one  verb,  it  is  also  called  a  clause.  Of  such 
a  sentence  as  this,  "  I  have  called,  j  but  ye  refused,"^  we 
should  say  indifferently  that  it  consists  of  two  members  or  of 
two  clauses. II  The  members  or  the  clauses  are  not  always 
perfectly  separate,  the  one  succeeding  the  other;  one  of 
them  is  sometimes  very  aptly  enclosed  by  the  other,  as  in 
the  subsequent  instance  :  "  When  Christ  (who  is  our  life) 
shall  appear,  then  shall  ye  also  appear  with  him  in  glory. "T[ 
This  sentence  consists  of  two  members,  the  former  of  which 
is  divided  into  two  clauses  ;  one  of  these  clauses,  "  who  is 
our  life,"  being,  as  it  were,  imbosomed  in  the  other,  "  when 
Christ  shall  appear." 

So  much  for  the  primary  distinction  of  sentences  into  sim- 
ple and  complex. 

SECTION  II. 

SIMPLE    SENTENCES. 

With  regard  to  simple  sentences,  it  ought  to  be  observed, 
first,  that  there  are  degrees  in  simplicity.  "  God  made  man" 
is  a  very  simple  sentence.  "On  the  sixth  day  God  made 
man  out  of  the  dust  of  the  earth  after  his  own  image,"  is 
still  a  simple  sentence  in  the  sense  of  rhetoricians  and  crit- 
ics, as  it  hath  but  one  verb,  but  less  simple  than  the  former, 
on  account  of  the  circumstances  specified.  Now  it  is  evident 
that,  the  simpler  any  sentence  is,  there  is  the  less  scope  for, 

»  Gen.,  i.,  1.        t  Isaiah,  Ixiii.,  16.  t  Ibid.,  i.,  3.  ()  Prov.,  i.,  24. 

II  The  words  number  and  ctauxe  in  English  are  used  as  corresponding  to 
ttie  Greek  kuXov  and  KOjxfia,  and  to  the  Latin  membru?>i  and  incisum 
•T  Ccl ,  ill.,  4. 


THK    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC.  375 

variety  in  the  arrang[ement,  and  the  less  indulgence  to  a  vio- 
lation of  the  estabUshed  rule.  Yet  even  in  the  simplest, 
whatever  strongly  impresses  the  fancy  or  awakens  passion, 
is  sufficient,  to  a  certain  degree,  to  autiiorize  the  violation. 

No  law  of  theliiiglish  tongue  relating  to  the  disposition  of 
words  in  a  sentence  holds  more  generally  than  this,  that  llie 
nominative  has  the  first  place,  the  verb  the  second,  and  the 
accnsativc,  if  it  be  an  active  verb  that  is  employed,  has  the 
third  :*  if  it  be  a  substantive  verb,  the  participle,  or  predi- 
cate of  whatever  denomination  it  be,  occupies  the  third  place. 
Yet  this  order,  to  the  great  advantage  of  the  expression,  is 
often  inverted.  Thus,  in  the  general  uproar  at  Ephesus  on 
occasion  of  Paul's  preaching  among  them  against  idolatry,  ■ 
we  are  informed  that  the  people  exclaimed  for  some  ti.ne 
without  intermission,  "  Gyaat  is  Diana  of  the  Ephesians."! 
Alter  the  arrangement,  restore  the  grammatic  order,  and  say, 
"  Diana  of  the  Ephesians  is  great,''  and  you  destroy  at  once 
the  signature  of  impetuosity  and  ardour  resulting,  if  you 
please  to  call  it  so,  from  the  disarrangement  of  the  words. 

We  are  apt  to  consider  the  customary  arrangement  as  the 
most  consonant  to  nature,  in  consequence  of  which  notion 
we  brand  every  departure  from  it  as  a  transgression  from 
the  natural  order.  This  way  of  thinking  ariseth  from  some 
very  specious  causes,  but  is  far  from  being  just.  "  Custom," 
it  hath  been  said,  "  becomes  a  second  nature."  Nay,  we  oft- 
en find  it  strong  enough  to  suppress  the  first.  Accordingly, 
what  is  in  this  respect  accoimtcd  natural  in  one  language,  is 
unnatural  in  another.  In  Latin,  for  example,  the  negative 
particle  is  conmionly  put  before  the  verb,  in  English  it  is 
put  after  it ;  in  French  one  negative  is  put  before,  and  anoth- 
er after.  If  in  any  of  these  languages  you  follow  the  prac- 
tice of  any  other,  the  order  of  the  words  will  appear  unnat-  j^ 
ural.  Wq  in  Britain  think  it  most  suitable  to  nature  to  place  }^ 
the  adjective  before  the  substantive ;  the  French  and  most  "" 
other  Europeans  think  the  contrary.  We  range  the  oblique 
cases  of  the  personal  pronouns  as  we  do  the  nouns  whose 
place  they  occupy,  after  the  verb ;  they  range  them  invaria- 
bly before,  notwithstanding  that,  when  the  regimen  is  a  sub- 
stantive, they  make  it  come  after  the  verb  as  we  do.  They 
and  we  have  both  the  same  reason,  custom,  which  is  differ- 
ent in  different  countries. 

But  it  may  be  said  that  more  than  this  can  be  urged  in  sup- 

*  Let  it  be  observed,  that  in  speaking  of  English  Syntax  [  use  the  terms 
nominative  and  accusative  merely  lo  avoid  tedious  circumlocutions,  sensible 
that  in  strict  propriety  our  sul)stantives  have  no  such  cases.  Hy  the  nomi- 
native I  mean  always  the  efficient  agent  or  instrument  operating,  with  which 
the  verb  agrees  in  number  and  person  ;  by  the  accusative,  the  ellccl  produ- 
ced, the  object  aimed  at,  or  the  subject  operated  on 

♦  Acts,  xix.,  28  and  34. 


376  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

port  of  the  ordinary  arrangement  of  a  simple  sentence  above 
explained.  The  nominative,  to  talk  in  the  logicians'  stylC;  is 
!.hu  subject ;  the  adjective,  or  participle,  is  the  predicate  ;  and 
*he  snbstaniive  verb,  the  copula.  Now  is  it  not  most  natural 
that  the  subject  be  mentioned  before  the  thing  predicated  of 
if?  and  what  place  so  proper  for  the  copula  which  uniies  them 
as  the  middle?  This  is  plausible,  and,  were  the  mind  a  pure 
intellect,  without  fancy,  taste,  or  passion,  perhaps  it  would  be 
just.  But  as  the  case  is  different  with  human  nature,  I  sus- 
pect there  will  be  found  little  uniformity  in  this  particular  in 
different  tongues,  unless  where,' in  respect  either  of  matter 
)r  of  form,  they  have  been  in  a  great  measure  derived  from 
jome  common  source. 

The  Hebrew  is  a  very  simple  language,  and  hath  not  that 
variety  either  of  moods  or  of  conjunctions  that  is  requisite 
for  forming  a  complicated,  style.  Here,  therefore,  if  any- 
where, one  would  e.xpect  to  find  an  arrangement  purely 
natural.  Yet  in  this  languagCi  the  most  usual,  and  what 
■would  with  them,  therefore,  be  termed  the  grammatical  dis- 
position of  tlie  words,  is  not  the  disposition  above  mentioned. 
In  the  historic  style,  or  when  past  events  are  related,  they 
commonly  place  the  verb  first,  then  the  nominative,  after- 
ward the   regimen,  predicate,  or  attendant  circumstances.* 

*  Thus  the  ^'ery  first  words  of  Genesis,  a  book  even  among  the  books  of 
Scripture  remarkable  for  simplicity  of  style,  are  an  evidence  of  this  in  the 
active  verb:  nS  DTi^X  >*~l3  n^iyj^lD  jriSH  fiNT  D'DiiTI-  The  order 
is  preserved  exactly  in  the  Vulgate.  "  In  prmcipio  creavit  Deus  coelum  et 
terram."  That  the  same  order  is  observed  in  disposing  the  substantive  verb, 
appears  from  the  fifth  verse,  inX  D1''  "IDD  in")  21}?  'n'1-  The  ar- 
rangement here  is  perfectly  exhibited  in  the  Latin  version  of  Junius  and 
Tremellius,  which  is  generally  very  literal.  "  Sic  fuit  vesjiera  et  fnit  mane 
diei  primi."  Yet  in  English  we  should  be  apt  to  call  the  order  in  both  pas- 
sages, especially  the  last,  rather  unnatural,  "in  the  beginning  created  God 
the  heavens  and  the  earth."  "  And  was  evening  and  was  morning  day  first." 
The  same  thing  might  be  illustrated  in  the  passive  verbs,  in  the  neuter,  and 
in  the  reciprocal,  if  necessary.  Nothing,  therefore,  can  be  m.ore  evident  than 
that  it  is  custom  only  which  makes  us  Britons  prefer  one  order  of  words 
and  others  another,  as  the  natural  order.  I  am  surprised  that  a  critic  of  so 
much  taste  and  discernment  as  Bouhours  (see  his  Eniretiens  d'Ariste  el 
d'Eugene:  2.  La  Langue  Fraii<;oise)  should  represent  this  as  one  of  the  ex- 
cellences of  the  l-'rench  tongue,  that  it  follows  the  natural  order  of  the  words, 
It  is  manifest,  from  what  has  been  said,  that  its  common  arrangement  has 
no  more  title  to  be  denominated  natural  than  that  of  any  other  language. 
Nay,  we  may  raise  an  argument  for  confuting  this  silly  pretence  from  the 
very  laws  that  obtain  in  this  language.  Thus,  if  the  natural  order  require 
that  the  regimen  should  follow  tlie  active  verb,  their  way  of  arranging  the 
oblique  cases  of  the  pronouns  is  unnatural,  as  they  always  place  them  be- 
fore the  verb  ;  if,  on  the  contrary,  the  natural  order  require  that  the  regimen 
should  precede  the  governing  verb,  their  way  of  arranging  nouns  governed 
by  verbs  is  unnatural,  since  they  always  place  them  after  the  verb  ;  so  that, 
whichever  be  the  natural  way,  they  depart  from  it  in  the  disposition  of  ono 
or  other  of  these  parts  of  speech.  The  like  may  be  urged  in  regard  to  the 
nominative  which,  though  for  the  most  part  it  go  before  the  active  vejb,  m 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OP   RHETORIC.  377 

The  freedom  wliicli  Greek  and  Latin  allow  on  this  article, 
renders  it  improper  to  denominate  one  order  prrainmatieal 
exclusively  ol' others.  I  imatrine.  tiierefore,  thai  perhajjs  the 
only  principle  in  which,  on  tliis  subject,  we  can  safely  rest, 
as  being  founded  in  nature,  is^that  wiiatever  most  stroiijTJy 
fixes^e  attention,  or  operates  on  the  passion  of  tiie  speaker, 
will  first  seek  utterance  by  the  lips.  Tliis  is  agreeable  to  a 
common  proverb,  which,  perhaps,  to  speak  in  Shakspearc's 
phrase,*  is  something  musty,  but  significant  enough,  "Nearest 
the  heart,  nearest  the  mouth."  In  these  transpositions,  there- 
fore, I  maintain  that  the  order  will  be  found,  on  examination, 
to  be  more  strictly  natural  liian  when  the  more  general  prac- 
tice in  the  tongue  is  followed. 

As  an  irrefragable  argument  in  support  of  this  doctrine,  it 
naay  be  pleaded  that,  though  the  most  usual,  which  is  properly 
the  artificial  order,  be  different  in  different  languages,  the 
manner  of  arranging,  or  (if  you  like  the  term  better)  of  trans- 
posing above  specified,  which  is  always  an  effect  of  vivacity 
in  the  speaker,  and  a  cause  of  producing  a  livelier  conception 
in  the  hearer,  is  the  same  in  all  languages.  It  is  for  this  rea- 
son, among  others,  that  I  have  chosen  to  take  most  of  my 
examples  on  this  topic,  not  from  any  original  performance 
in  English,  but  from  the  common  translation  of  the  Bible, 
and  shall  here  observe,  once  for  all,  that,  both  in  the  quota- 
tions already  made  and  those  hereafter  to  be  made,  our 
translators  have  exactly  followed  the  order  of  the  original; 
and,  iii4eed,  all  translators  of  any  taste,  unless  when  cramped 
by  the  genius  of  the  tongue  in  which  they  wrote,  have  in  such 

certain  cases  follows  il.  This  hnppens  frequently  when  the  verb  is  prece- 
ded hy  itie  oblique  case  of  the  relative,  as  in  this  sentence  :  "  Le  retanle- 
ment,  qup  sovjj're  tc  Icctair,  lo  rend  phis  aiientif."'  And  c\ct\  in  placing  iheir 
adjectives,  wherever  use  hath  made  e.xceptions  from  'he  general  rule,  il  has 
carried  the  notion  of  what  is  natural  along  with  it.  They  would  call  it  as 
unnatural  to  say  Iwmme  jnme  ns  to  sn.y  gardieii  nnge.  All,  therefore,  that 
can  be  affirmed  with  truth  is,  that  the  French  adhere  more  inviolably  tlian 
other  nations  to  the  Ordinary  arrangement  established  in  the  language.  But 
this,  as  I  hope  to  evince  in  the  sequel,  is  one  of  the  greatest  nnperfeclions 
of  that  tongue.  The  ease  wiiii  which  the  Italian  adniils  either  order  in  the 
personal  pronouns,  especially  in  poetry,  adds  often  to  the  harmony  and  tiie 
elegance,  as  well  as  to  the  vivacity  of  the  e.xprcssion,  as  in  these  hues  of 
Metastasio's  Artaserse : 

"  Sallo  amor,  lo  sanno  i  numi ; 
11  mio  core,  il  tuo  lo  sa." 

Donhours,  in  the  dialogue  alcove  mentioned,  has  dropped  the  chnrnctcr  of 
critic  and  philosoplier  for  that  of  encomiast.  He  talk.s  like  a  lover  nliout  his 
mistress.  lie  sees  neither  l)!emish  nor  defect.  All  is  l)eauty  and  excei- 
letir'!.  For  my  part,  if  I  were  to  prove  the  inferiority  of  Frenrh  to  Italian 
and  Spanish,  the  two  languages  with  which  he  compares  it,  I  should  not 
desire  other  or  belter  topics  for  evincing  the  point  than  the  greater  part  o( 
those  which  he  has  employed,  in  my  judgment  very  unsuccessfully,  for  Iho 
contrary  purpose.  *  Hamlet. 

Ii2 


378  THE    PHILOSOPHY  OP  RHETORIC. 

cases  done  the  same.*  It  may  be  proper,  also,  to  remark, 
that  there  are  some  modern  tongues  which  in  this  respect  are 
much  more  inflexible  than  ours. 

The  next  example  I  shall  produce  is  very  similar  to  the 
former,  as  in  it  the  substantive  verb  is  preceded  by  the  parti- 
ciple passive,  and  followed  by  the  nominative.  In  the  ac- 
clamations of  the  people  on  our  Saviour's  public  entry  into 
Jerusalem,  the  historian  informs  us  that  they  cried  out, 
"  Blessed  is  he  that  cometh  in  the  name  of  the  Lord."!  In- 
stead of  this,  say,  "  He  that  cometh  in  the  name  of  the  Lord 
is  blessed,"  and  by  this  alteration  in  the  order  of  the  words, 
apparently  trifling,  you  convert  a  fervid  exclamation  into  a 
cold  aphorism. 

The  third  example  shall  be  of  an  active  verb,  preceded  by 
the  accusative,  and  followed  by  the  nominative.  It  may  be 
proper  to  observe,  by-the-way,  that,  unless  one  of  these  is  a 
pronoun,  such  an  arrangement  is  scarcely  admissible  in  our 
language.  These  cases  in  our  nouns,  not  being  distinguished 
by  inflection,  as  they  are  in  our  pronouns,  are  solely  ascer- 
tained by  place.  But  to  come  to  the  proposed  example,  we 
are  informed  by  the  sacred  historian,  that  when  Peter  and 
John  ordered  the  cripple  who  sat  begging  at  the  beautiful 
gate  of  the  temple  to  look  on  them,  he  looked  at  them 
very  earnestly,  expecting  to  receive  something  from  them. 
Then  Peter  said,  "  Silver  and  gold  have  I  none,  but  such  as 
I  have,  give  I  thee  :  In  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ  of  Nazareth, 
arise  and  walk. "J     Here  the  wishful  look  and  expectation  of 

*  Gr.,  MsyaXj?  J?  kprtfiii  E(pionov.  Lat.  Vulg.,  Erasm.,  "  Magna  Diana 
Ephesiorum."  Castal.,  Beza,  "  Magna  est  Diana  Ephesiorura."  Ital.,  Di- 
odati,  "  CTrande  e  la  Diana  degli  Efesii."  How  weak  in  comparison  is  Ihe 
French  version  of  Le  Cierc  !  "  La  Diane  des  Ephesiens  est  une  grande 
deese."  How  deficient  that  of  Beausobre  !  "  La  grande  Diane  des  Ephe 
siens."  How  ridiculous  that  of  Saci !  "  Vive  la  grande  Diane  des  Ephe- 
siens." 

t  Matt.,  xxi.,  9.  Gr.,  EuXoyiy/zsvoj  6  ep^oiuvo;  sv  ovopLari  Kvpiov.  Lat. 
Vulg.,  Eras.,  Bez.,  "  Benedictus  qui  venii  in  nomine  Domini."  Cast., 
"  Bene  sit  ei  qui  venit."  &c.  Ital,  Died.,  "Benedetto  cohii  che  viene  nel 
nome  del  Signioro."  Fr.,  Le  Clerc,  Beaus.,  Saci,  "  Beni  soit  celui  qui  vient 
au  noni  du  Seigneur." 

J  Acts,  ill.,  6.  Gr.,  Apyvptov  Kat  ^ptJO'ioi'  ov^  vtrap^u  fxai  •  5  3e  £\«),  rovro 
aot  itSw/ii.  Ev  ovo/taTi  Irjaov  Xpiorou  tov  Na^io/Jatou  tycipai  /cut  xtpcrdrtj. 
Lat.  Vul.,  Eras.,  Bez.,"  Argentum  et  aiirum  non'est  mihi ;  quod  autem  ha- 
beo,  hoc  tibi  do.  In  nomine  Jesu  Christi  Nazareni,  surge  et  ambula." 
Castaglio  hath  not  adhered  so  closely  to  the  orderof  the  words  in  the  origi- 
nal, but  hath  in  this  and  some  other  places,  for  the  sake  of  Latinity,  weak- 
ened the  e.xpression  :  "Nee  argentum  mihi  nee  aurum  est ;  sed  quod  habeo, 
hoc  tibi  do.  In  nomine,"  &c.  It  would  seem  that  neither  the  Italian  Ian 
guase  nor  the  French  can  admit  so  great  a  latitude  in  arranging  the  words, 
for  in  these  the  vivacity  resulting  from  the  order  is  not  only  weakened,  but 
destroyed.  Diod.,  "  lo  non  ho  ne  argento  ne  oro;  ma  quel  ciie  ho,  io  t'el 
dono :  nel  nome  di  Jesu  Christo  il  Nazareo,  levati  e  camina."  Le  Clerc, 
Beausobre,  "  Je  n'ai  ni  or  ni  argent ;  mais  ce  que  j'ai,  je  vous  le  donne :  au 
nom  de  Jesus  Christ  de  Nazareth,  levez-vous  el  marchez."    Saci's  is  the 


THE    PHILOSOPHY  OP   RHETORIC.  379 

the  beggar  naturally  leads  to  a  vivid  conception  of  that  which 
was  the  object  of  his  tho\ights,  and  this  conception  a.s  natu- 
rally displays  itself  in  the  very  form  of  the  declaration  made 
by  the  apostle.  But  as  everytliing  is  best  judged  by  com- 
parison, let  us  contrast  with  this  the  same  sentence  arranged 
according  to  the  rigid  rules  of  grammar,  which  render  it 
almost  a  literal  translation  of  the  Italian  and  French  versions 
quoted  in  the  margin  :  "  I  have  no  gold  and  silver,  but  I  give 
thee  that  which  1  have  :  in  the  name  of — "  The  import  is 
the  same,  but  the  expression  is  rendered  quite  exanimate. 
Yet  the  sentences  differ  chiefly  in  arrangement ;  the  other 
difference  in  composition  is  inconsiderable. 

There  is  another  happy  transposition  in  the  English  version 
of  the  passage  under  review,  which,  though  peculiar  to  our 
version,  deserves  our  notice,  as  it  contributes  not  a  little  to 
the  energy  of  the  whole.  I  mean  hot  only  the  separation  of 
the  adjective  none  from  its  suTfslahtives  silcei-  and  gold,  but 
the  y)lacing  of  it  at  the  end  of  the  clause^  whiclr,  as  it  were, 
rests  upon  it.  "  Silver  and  gold  have  I  nvne ;"  for  here,  as  in 
several  other  instances,  the  next  place  to  the  first,  in  respect 
of  emphasis:,  is  the  last.  We  shall  be  more  sensible  of  this 
by  making  a  very  small  alteration  on  the  composition  and 
structure  of  the  sentence,  and  saying,  "  Silver  and  gold  are 
not  in  my  possession,"  which  is  manifestly  weaker. 

My  fourth  example  shall  be  one  wherein  the  verb  occupies 
the  first  place  in  the  sentence,  which  often  happens  in  the 
ancient  languages  with  great  advantage  in  point  of  vivacity. 
But  this  cannot  frequently  obtain  in  English  without  occasion- 
ing an  ambiguity  ;  the  first  place,  when  given  to  the  verb,  be- 
ing, by  the  rules  of  our  syntax,  appropriated  to  distinguish 
these  three  things  :  a  command,  as  "  Stay  not  here  !"'  a  ques- 
tion, as,  "  Were  they  present  V  and  a  supposition,  as,  "  Had 
1  known,"  from  an  assertion,  as  "  Ye  stay  not  here  ;"  "  They 
icere  present ;"  and  "  I  had  known."  A  few  trifling  phrases, 
as  said  he,  replied  they,  are  the  sole  exceptions  in  the  simple 
tenses,  at  least  in  prose.  In  some  instances,  however,  in  the 
compound  tenses,  the  verb  may  precede  without  giving  rise 
to  any  double  meaning.  In  such  cases  it  is  not  the  auxiliary 
or  the  substantive  verb  that  begins  the  sentence,  as  in  sup- 
position and  interrogation,  but  the  infinitive  of  the  prmcipal 
verb  in  the  active  voice,  and  the  participle  in  the  passive,  as 
in  expressions  like  these,  "  Go  I  must,  whatever  may  ensue" 
— "  Axwid  it  he  could  not  by  any  means."  An  instance  in  the 
passive  voice  hath  been  given  in  the  second  example.     I 

saii:e,  except  in  the  la«:t  member,  where, by  transposing  the  words  "nu  nom 
de  .lesiis  Christ  cte  Naznreth,"  an<]  putting  them  after  "  levezvons,"  he 
hath  altered  the  sense,  and  made  that  a  circnmstance  attending  the  action 
'of  the  lame  man,  which  was  intended  to  express  the  authority  whereby  tho 
Kpostle  gave  the  order. 


380  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

shall  here  observe,  that  in  one  passaofc  of  Scripture,  our 
translators,  by  not  attending^  to  this  small  circumstance,  that 
the  impcwt  of  the  passive  verb  lies  in  the  participle,  have, 
without  necessity,  not  only  given  up  the  emphaticai  arrange- 
ment, but,  in  order  to  be  literal,  have  copied  a  figure  which, 
fhouglt  forcible  in  the  original,  is,  in  the  place  assigned  it  in 
the  translation,  rather  unnatural  and  insignificant.  The  pas- 
sage alhided  to  is  this:  "Another  angel  followed,  saying, 
Babylon  is  fallen,  is  fallen,  that  great  city."*  Here,  as  it 
was  the  event  itself  that  chiefly  occupied  the  angel's  mind, 
the  verb  in  the  Greek  with  great  propriety  begins  the  procla- 
mation :  again,  as  it  was  an  event  of  so  surprising  a  nature 
and  of  such  mighty  consequence,  it  was  natural  to  attempt, 
by  repeating  the  word,  to  rivet  it  in  the  minds  of  the  hearere 
ere  he  proceeded  any  farther.  The  words  is  fallen,  in  our 
language,  answer  to  the  single  word  by  which  the  verb  is  ex- 
pressed in  the  original.  Our  translators  were  sensible  they 
could  not  say  ^''  Is  fallen,  is  fallen.,  Babylon  that  great  city." 
This  could  convey  no  meaning,  being  neither  affirmation  nor 
inierrogation,  hypothesis  nor  wish.  For  this  reason  they 
have  preferred  the  colder  arrangement  prescribed  by  gram- 
marians, though  by  so  doing  they  have  also  \j^hi  the  effect  of 
the  reduplication.  A  little  attention  to  the  genius  of  our 
tongue  would  have  shown  them  that  all  the  efFecl,  both  of 
the  order  and  of  the  figure,  would  have  been  preserved  by 
saying,  "  Fallen,  fallen,  is  Babylon  the  great  city."f 

Often  a  particle,  such  as  an  adverb  or  preposition  belong- 
ing to  a  compound  verb  (for  it  matters  not  in  which  way  you 
consider  it),  emphatically  begins  the  sentence,  as  in  that  for- 

*  Rev.,  xiv.,  8.  Gr.,  Err£(T£r,  ntcan  BufiuXui'  >j  woXij  17  iiiyaXri.  As  llie  ex- 
prpsyion  is  taken  from  Isaiaii,  xxi.,  9,  tlie  same  ordt-r  is  touiid  in  Ihc  He 
tirew,  ^33  nbDJ  nbD3-  All  the  Latin  translations  that  1  have  seen 
have  Ibllowed  ihe  same  order  :  •'  Cecidit,  cecidit  lial]ylon,  iirbs  ilia  magna." 
Le  Clorc  and  Saci  in  the  French,  l)Oth  agree  with  the  arrangement  in  tl>o 
English,  "  Babylone,  est  toinbee  ;  elle  est  tonibee  ;  cette  grande  ville." 
Beausol)re's  version  in  that  tongue  is  rather  better,  as  it  comes  nearer  ihc 
order  of  the  words  in  the  Greek.  He  begins  with  the  pronoun,  and  pnti- 
the  name  alter  the  verb  :  "  Elle  est  tombee,  elle  est  tombee,  Babylone  !a 
grande  ville."  This,  I  believe,  is  as  near  the  original  as  the  idiom  of  the 
French  will  permit.  In  the  Italian,  Diodati  hath  preserved  entirely  the  vi- 
vacity resulting  both  from  the  disposition  of  Ihe  words  and  the  reduplica- 
tion of  the  verb,  and  hath  given  the  passage  that  turn  which  the  English 
ititerpreteis  might  and  should  have  given  it:  "Caduta.  caduta  e  B;ibiloina 
la  gran  cilta."  It  is  evident  that  in  this  m.itter  the  Italian  allows  more  lib- 
erty than  the  French,  and  the  English  more  than  the  Italian.  The  truth 
of  this  observation  wUl  appear  more  fully  afterward. 

t  Somewhat  similar  is  the  admirable  example  we  have  in  this  passage  of 
Virgil: 

"Me,  me,  adsum  qui  feci,  in  me  convertite  ferrum." — ^n.,  1.  9. 
The  emphasis  here  is  even  the  stronger,  that  the  pronoun  so  happily  begim 
with  and  repeated  is  perfectly  irregular,  it  being  quite  detached  from  the 
'•onstruction  of  the  sentence. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    01'    RHETORIC.  381 

mcily  quoted  for  another  purpose  •  "  Up  goes  my  grave  Iin- 
piuicncc!  to  tiie  maid."'  In  the  particle  t^/^  tliat  circiinistancc 
is  denoted  wliich  particularly  marks  tlio  impnclunce  of  ilic 
a«;lion.  Hy  tiie  help  of  it,  too,  tlic  verb  is  made  to  precede 
tiie  nominative,  which  otlierwise  it  could  not  do.  In  nega- 
tions it  holds  very  generally,  that  tiie  negaiive  particle  should 
be  joined  to  the  verb.  Yet  in  some  cases  tiie  expression  is 
greatly  enlivened,  and,  consequently,  the  denial  appears  more 
determinate,  by  beginning  the  sentence  with  the  adverb. 
"■Not  every  one,"  says  our  Saviour,  "  that  saith  unto  me, 
Lord,  Lord,  shall  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ;  but  he 
that  doeth  the  will  of  iny  Father  who  is  in  heaven."*  Vary 
but  the  position  of  the  negative  in  the  first  member,  and  say, 
"  Every  one  that  saith  imto  me.  Lord,  Lord,  shall  not  enter 
into  the  kingdom  of  heaven,"  and  you  will  flatten  the  ex- 
pression exceedingly.  On  so  slight  a  circumstance  in  the 
arrangement  does  the  energy  of  a  sentence  sometimes  de- 
pend. We  have  some  admirable  examples  of  the  power  of 
this  circumstance  in  Shakspeare.  In  the  conference  of  .Mal- 
colm with  Macduir,  after  the  former  had  asserted  that  he 
himself  was  so  wicked  that  even  Macbeth,  compared  with 
him,  would  appear  innocent  as  a  lamb,  Macduff  replies  with 
some  warmth, 

"  Not  in  the  legions 

Of  horrid  liell  can  come  a  devil  more  damn'd, 

hi  ills  to  top  Macbeih."t 

The  arrangement  in  this  sentence  is  admirably  adapted  to 
the  speaker's  purpose;  whereas,  if  you  dispose  the  words  in 
the  usual  manner,  and  say,  "A  more  damned  devil  in  the  le- 
gions of  horrid  hell  cannot  come  to  top  Macbeth  in  ills,"  we 
shall  scarcely  be  persuaded  that  the  thought  is  the  same.  If 
it  were  needful  to  multiply  examples,  I  might  easily  show 
that  other  adverbs,  particularly  those  of  time  and  of  place, 
when  such  circumstances  require  special  notice,  may,  with 
great  advantage  to  the  energy,  appear  foremost  in  the  sen- 
tence. 

I  proceed  to  observe,  that  when  a  sentence  begins  with  a 
conjunction,  whether  it  be  expressed  in  one  word  or  more, 
v.iih  naming  or  titling  the  persons  addressed,  with  a  call  to 
attention,  or  even  with  a  term  that  is  little  more  than  exple- 
tive, the  place  immediately  following  such  phrase,  title,  or 
connective,  will  often,  give  the  same  advantage  to  the  ftc- 

*  Matt.,  vii..  21.  Gr.,  Ou  rrai  «  Xtyjov  \ioi,  Kvpit  Kvpa,  tiortXcurrtrni  £if  tj]v 
(iaatXctiiv  Tu)v  ovpnviiiv  Allihe  Lalin  tnnislators,  however  ditlpreiilly  lliey 
ex|)reh>!  lh«  sense,  ;ii;ree  in  lieiminiii^  vviih  the  ne2;;ilive  particle.  So  also 
do! I)  Diiidati  in  the  Italian  :  "  IVoa  cliinnqiie  jui  dice,  .Signoio,  Si^nore.  en- 
trera  nel  rogno  de' cieli."  Not  so  the  Froiicli.  Le  CIcic  and  Ueaiisobre 
thus:  ••Tons  cenx  qni  inc  disent,  Sf>ignenr.  Sei^jneiir,  n'entreront  pas  dans 
le  royaume  du  cicl."  Saci  thus :  "  Ceux  qui  me  uiseat,  Seigneur,  Seigneur, 
n'entreront  pas  tousdans  le  rovauine  des  cicu.>:."  +  Macbeth. 


382  THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF    RHETORIC. 

pression  that  fills  it,  as  in  other  cases  the  first  placo  will  do. 
Thf;  first  term  or  phrrse  is  considered  only  as  the  link  which 
connects  the  sentence  with  that  which  went  hefore  ;  or,  if  it 
have  no  relation  to  the  preceding,  as  an  intimation  that 
something  is  to  be  said.  Of  this  a  few  examples  will  suffice. 
The  place  immediately  after  a  conjunction  which  begins  the 
sentence  is  sometimes  emphatical,  as  in  that  of  Milton  • 

"  At  last  his  sail-broad  vans 
He  spreads  for  flight  ;"* 

where  the  description  is  the  more  picturesque  that  the  verD 
is  preceded  by  its  regimen.  The  possessive  pronoun  and  the 
epithet,  unless  when  a  particular  emphasis  rests  upon  one  of 
them,  are  regarded  only  as  constituting  parts  of  one  com- 
plex sign  with  the  noun.  Secondly,  the  place  after  the  ad- 
dress, as  in  that  of  the  same  author, 

"Powers  and  dominions,  deities  of  heaven  ! 

■»••••***■» 

Me,  though  jvist  right,  and  the  fix'd  laws  of  heaven, 
Did  first  create  your  leader."t 

JNothing  could  better  suit,  or  more  vividly  express,  the  pride 
and  arrogance  of  the  arch-apostate,  than  the  manner  here 
used  of  introducing  himself  to  their  notice.  Thirdly,  the 
place  after  a  call  to  attention,  as  that  of  the  apostle,  "  Be- 
hold, 720W  is  the  accepted  time :  behold,  now  is  the  day  of 
salvation."!  Lastly,  the  place  after  an  expletive  :  "  There 
came  no  more  such  abundance  of  spices  as  these  which  the 
Queen  of  Sheba  gave  to  King  Solomon."^  Perhaps  the  word 
there,  in  this  passage,  cannot  properly  be  termed  an  expletive  ; 
for  though  it  be  in  itself  insignificant,  the  idiom  of  the  lan- 
guage renders  it  necessary  in  this  disposition  of  the  sen- 
tence ;  for  such  is  the  power  of  this  particle,  that  by  its  means 
even  the  simple  tenses  of  the  verb  can  be  made  to  precede 
the  nominative,  without  the  appearance  of  interrogation. 
For  when  we  interrogate  we  must  say,  "  Came  there — "  or 
"  Did  there  come — "  A  little  attention  will  satisfy  us  that 
the  verb  in  the  passage  produced  ought  to  occupy  the  em- 
phatical place,  as  the  comparison  is  purely  of  what  was 
brought  into  the  country  then,  and  what  was  at  any  time  im- 
ported afterward.  Even  though  the  particle  there  be  prece- 
ded by  the  copulative,  it  will  make  no  odds  on  the  value  of 
the  place  immediately  following.  "  And  there  appeared  to 
them  Elias,  with  Moses. "||  The  apparition  is  here  the  stri- 
king circumstance.  And  the  first  place  that  is  occupied  by 
a  significant  term  is  still  the  emphatical  place.  In  all  the 
three  preceding  quotations  from  Scripture,  the  arrangement 
is  the  same  in  the  original,  and  in  most  of  the  ancient  trans- 

♦  Paradise  Lost,  b.  ii.       t  Ibid.       t  2  Cor.,  vi.,  2.       <J  1  Kings,  x-,  10 
II  Mark,  ix.,  4.    Gr.,  Kat  <i><)>9if  avrots  HXtaj  ovv  Mitxrei. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  383 

lations,  as  it  is  with  us.  The  modern  versions  vary  more, 
especially  in  regard  to  the  passage  hist  quoted.* 

I  shall  add  one  example  more  from  the  Scripture,  wherein 
the  oblique  case  of  the  pprsonal  pronoun,  though  preceded 
by  tvvo  conjunctions,  emphatically  ushers  the  verb  and  its 
nominative.  Among  many  nations  there  was  no  king  like  Srlo- 
mon,  who  teas  beloved  of  his  God,  and  God  made  him  king  over 
all  Israel:  nevertheless,  even  him  did  outlandish  women  cause  lo 
sin.\  My  remark  concerns  only  the  last  clause  of  the  sen- 
tence. It  is  manifest  that  the  emphasis  here  ought  to  rest 
on  the  him,  who,  from  what  immediately  precedes,  might  have 
been  thought  proof  against  all  the  arts  even  of  female  se- 
duction. This  clause,  everybody  must  perceive,  would  have 
been  much  more  weakly  expressed  had  it  been  arranged  thus  : 
Nevertheless,  outlandish  women  did  cause  even  him  to  sin. 

Sometimes,  indeed,  it  is  necessary,  in  order  to  set  an  em- 
inent object  in  the  most  conspicuous  light,  to  depart  a  little 
from  the  ordinary  mode  of  composition  as  well  as  of  arrange- 
ment. The  following  is  an  example  in  this  way :  "  Your 
fathers,  where  are  they  ?  and  the  prophets,  do  they  live  for- 
ever VJ  A  colder  writer  would  have  satisfied  himself  with 
saying,  "  Where  are  your  fathers "!  and  do  the  prophets  live 
forever]"  But  who  that  has  the  least  spark  of  imagination 
sees  not  how  languid  the  latter  expression  is  when  compared 
with  the  former]     The  sentiment  intended  to  be  conveyed 

*  In  Italian,  Diodati  renders  it,  "  Et  Eiia  apparue  loro,  insieme  con 
Moise."  In  French,  Le  Clerc,  "Ensuite  Elie  et  Moise  leur  apparurent.'' 
Beausobre,  "  lis  virent  aussi  paroltre  Moi'se  el  Elie."  Saci,  "  Et  ils  viient 
paroitre  Elie  et  Moise."  It  would  seem  that  neither  of  these  tongues  can 
easily  admit  the  simple  tense  to  precede  both  its  nominative  and  its  rep;imen. 
By  the  aid  of  the  particle  there,  this  is  done  in  English  without  ambiguity, 
and  without  violence  to  the  idiom  of  the  language. 

t  Neh.,  .xiii.,  26.  The  clause  affected  by  this  criticism  stands  thus  in  the 
original:  :r\T133n  D"'K'jn  TNiOnn  irT^N  DJ-  The  order  is  exactly 
the  same  in  the  Greek  of  the  Septuagint:  K«i  tovtov  t^cK'Xivav  ai  yvvaiKts 
al  aWoTfuai ;  and  nearly  the  same  in  the  Latin  Vulgate:  "  Et  ipsnm  ergo 
duxerunt  ad  peccatum  mulieres  alieiiigens."  Junius  is  rather  more  literal : 
"Etiam  ipsum  ad  peccandum  induxerunt  femina;  alienigense."  Castalio, 
with  at  least  equal  energy,  places  the  pronoun  before  the  conjunction  • 
"Eum  tamen  ad  peccandum  mulieres  perduxerunt  extranaj."  In  all  these, 
as  in  the  English  translation,  vi'hat  is  principally  emphatical  in  the  arrange 
ment  is  preserved,  the  pronoun  being  the  first  among  the  significant  terms 
It  is  not  so  in  Diodati's  Italian  version  :  "  E  pure  le  donne  straniere  lo  fuer< 
peccare  ;"  nor  in  Saci's  French  :  "  Et  apres  cela  neaiimoins  des  fcmmef 
etrangeres  le  firent  tomber  dans  le  peche."  It  is  remarkable,  that  thougl 
the  ordinary  granimatic  rules,  both  of  French  and  of  Italian,  place  the  pro 
noun  governed  before  the  governing  verb,  the  reverse  of  which  obtains  ir 
English,  the  latter  language  is  more  capable  of  accommodating  itself  to  such 
an  expressive  disposition  of  the  words,  as  has  been  now  exemplilied,  thar 
either  of  the  former.  The  reason  is,  though  these  tongues  make  the  ob 
lique  case  of  the  pronoun  generally  precede  the  verb,  they  do  not  admit  th» 
noniinative  to  intervene,  but,  for  the  most  part,  except  in  .isking  a  question 
place  it  before  both.  t  Zech.,  i..  5 


384  THE  prnLosopiiY  of  rhetoric. 

in  both,  namely,  tlie  frailty  and  mortality  of  man,  is  one  of 
those  obvious  truths  vvhicli  it  is  impossible  for  any  person  in 
his  senses  to  call  in  question.  To  introduce  the  mention  of 
it,  in  order  to  engage  my  assent  j.o  what  nobody  ever  denied 
or  doubted,  would  be  of  no  consequence  at  all ;  but  it  is  of 
consequen(!e  to  rouse  my  attention  to  a  truth  which  so  near- 
ly concerns  every  man,  and  which  jS,  nevertheless,  so  little 
attended  to  by  any.  In  such  cases  the  end  of  speaking  is 
not  to  make  us  believe,  but  to  make  us/eeZ.  It  is  the  heart, 
and  not  the  head,  whicli  ought  to  be  addressed.  And  nothing 
can  be  better  adapted  to  this  purpose  than  first,  as  it  were 
independently,  to  raise  clear  ideas  in  the  imagination,  and 
then,  by  the  abruptness  of  an  unexpected  question,  to  send 
us  to  seek  for  the  archetypes. 

From  all  the  examples  above  quoted,  those  especially  ta- 
ken from  Holy  Writ,  the  learned  reader,  after  comparing 
them  carefully  both  with  the  original  and  with  the  transla- 
tions cited  in  the  margin,  will  be  enabled  to  deduce,  with  as 
much  certainty  as  the  nature  of  the  question  admits,  that  that 
arrangement  which  I  call  rhetorical,  as  contributing  to  viva- 
city and  animation,  is,  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the  word, 
agreeably  to  what  hath  been  already  suggested,  a  natural  ar- 
rangement:  that  tiie  principle  wiiich  leads  to  it  operates 
similarly  on  every  people  and  in  every  language,  though  it 
is  much  more  checked  by  the  idiom  of  some  tongues  than  by 
that  of  others;  that,  on  the  contrary,  the  more  common,  and 
what,  for  distinction's  sake,  I  call  the  grammatical  order,  is, 
in  a  great  measure,  an  arrangement  of  convention,  and  differs 
considerably  in  different  languages.*  He  will  discover,  also, 
that  to  render  the  artificial  or  conventional  arrangement,  as 
it  were,  sacred  and  inviolable,  by  representing  every  devia- 
tion (whatever  be  the  subject,  whatever  be  the  design  of  the 
work)  as  a  trespass  against  the  laws  of  composition  in  the 
language,  is  one  of  the  most  effectual  ways  of  stinting  the 
powers  of  elocution,  and  even  of  damping  the  vigour  both  of 

*  All  the  French  critics  are  not  so  immoderately  national  as  Bonhours. 
Since  composing  the  Ibregoing  observations,  1  have  been  shown  a  book  en- 
tillccl  Traile  de  la  Formation  Mechanique  des  Langues.  The  sentiments  of 
the  anthoif  on  tliis  subject  are  entirely  coincident  with  mine.  He  refers  to 
some  other  treatises,  particularly  to  one  on  Inversion,  by  M.  de  Batleux, 
which  1  have  not  seen.  Concerning  it  he  says,  "  Ceux  qui  I'auront  hi,  ver- 
rons  que  c'est  le  defant  de  terminaisons  propresa  distinguer  le  nominatif  de 
I'accvis.itif  qui  nous  a  force  prendre  cetordre  moinsnaturelqu'on  ne  le  croit: 
que  rinversion  est  dans  notre  langue,  nan  dans  la  langue  Latine,  comme  on 
SG  le  figure  :  queles  mo,ts  etant  plus  fails  pourThomme  que  pour  leschoses, 
fordre  essentiel  a  suivre  dans  le  discours  rejiresentatir  de  I'idee  des  objets 
n'cs  pas  taut  la  marche  commune  des  choses  dans  la  nature,  que  la  suc- 
cession veritable  des  pensees,  la  rapidite  des  sentimens,  ou  de  I'interet  da 
cceur,  la  fidelite  de  I'image  dans  la  tableau  de  Taction  :  que  le  Latin  en  pre- 
fcrant  ces  points  capitaux  procede  plus  naturellenient  que  ie  Francois.'' 
Stc.  No.  23. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OP    RHETORIC.  385 

imajjiiiatiun  and  of  passion.  I  observe  this  the  rather,  that, 
in  my  appreliension,  the  criticism  that  prevails  among  us  at 
present  leans  too  much  this  way.  No  man  is  more  sensil)lo 
of  the  excellence  of  purity  and  perspicuity,  properly  so  call- 
ed ;  but  I  would  not  hastily  give  up  some  not  inconsiderable 
advantages  of  the  English  tongue,  in  respect  both  of  elo- 
quence and  of  poetry,  merely  in  exchange  for  the  French 
neltetc. 

1  should  next  proceed  to  make  some  remarks  on  the  dis- 
.posftion  and  the  form  of  the  clauses  in  complex  sentences; 
for  though  some  of  the  examples  already  produced  are  prop- 
erly complex,  in  these  1  have  only  considered  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  words  in  the  principal  member,  and  not  the  dis- 
position of  the  members.  But  before  I  enter  on  this  other 
discussion,  it  will  be  proper  to  observe,  and  by  some  suitable 
examples  to  illustrate  the  observation,  that  the  complex  are 
not  so  favourable  to  a  vivacious  diction  as  the  simple  sen- 
tences, or  such  as  consist  of  two  clauses  at  the  most. 

Of  all  the  parts  of  speech,  the  conjunctions  are  the  most 
unfriendly  to  vivacity;  and  next  to  them,  the  relative  pro- 
nouns, as  partaking  of  the  nature  of  conjunction.  It  is  by 
these  parts,  less  significant  in  themselves,  that  the  more  sig- 
nificant parts,  particularly  the  members  of  complex  sen- 
tences, are  knit  together.  The  frequent  recurrence,  there- 
fore, of  such  feeble  supplements,  cannot  fail  to  prove  tire- 
some, especially  in  pieces  wherein  an  enlivened  and  ani- 
mated diction  might  naturally  be  expected.  But  nowhere 
hath  simplicity  in  the  expression  a  better  efiect  in  invigor- 
ating tlte  sentiments  than  in  poetical  description  on  interest- 
ing subjects.  Consider  the  song  composed  by  Moses  on  oc- 
casion of  the  passage  of  the  Israelites  through  the  Red  Sea, 
and  you  will  find  that  part  of  the  effect  produced  by  that  noble 
hymn  is  justly  imputable  to  the  simple,  the  abrupt,  the  rapid 
maimer  adopted  in  the  composition.  I  shall  produce  only 
two  verses  for  a  specimen.  "  The  enemy  said,  I  will  pursue  ; 
I  will  overtake ;  1  will  divide  the  spoil;  my  revenge  shall  be 
satiated  upon  them  ;  I  will  draw  my  sword ;  my  hand  shall 
destroy  them  :  thou  blewest  with  thy  breath  ;  the  sea  covered 
them  ;  tiicy  sank  as  lead  in  the  mighty  waters."*    This  is  tho 

*  Exod.,  XV.,  0,  10.  The  word  by  our  interpreters  rendered  xtind  also 
denotes  spirit  and  breath.  A  similar  honionymy  in  the  correspond.ng  term 
may  be  observed  not  only  in  the  Oriental,  but  in  almost  all  ancient  langua- 
ges. When  Ibis  noun  has  the  afli.K  pronovm  by  which  it  is  appropriated  tr, 
a  |)erson,  the  signification  wind  is  evidently  excluded,  and  the  ineanuig  is 
limited  to  either  xpiru  or  breath.  When  it  is,  besides,  construed  with  the 
verb  blow,  the  signification  spirit  is  also  excluded,  and  the  meaning  confined 
\o  breath,  ll  is  likewise  the  intention  of  the  inspire<l  penman  to  represent 
the  wonderful  facility  with  which  Jehovah  blasted  all  the  towering  hopes 
of  the  Egyptians.  Add  to  this,  that  such  a  manner  is  entirely  in  the  He- 
brew taste,  which  considers  every  great  natural  object  as  bearing  some  r©- 
Kk 


386  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

figure  which  the  Greek  rhetoricians  call  asyndeton,  and  to 
which  they  ascribe  a  wonderful  efficacy.  .  It  ought  to  be  ob- 
served, that  the  natural  connexion  of  the  particulars  men- 
tioned is  both  close  and  manifest ;  and  it  is  ihis  consideraiion 
which  entirely  supersedes  the  artificial  signs  of  tiiat  connex- 
ion, such  as  conjunctions  and  relatives.  Our  translators 
(who,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  are  not  often  chargeable 
witlj  this  fault)  have  injured  one  passage  in  endeavouring  to 
mend  it.  Literally  rendered,  it  stands  thus  :  "  Thou  sentest 
forth  thy  wrath  ;  it  consumed  them  as  stubble."*  These  two 
simple  sentences  have  appeared  to  them  too  much  detached. 
For  this  reason,  they  have  injududously  combined  them  into 
one  compiex-senteaeiBj^rjrlnserling  the  relative  iv/iic/i,  and 
thereby  weakened Th^~ext>r«*sion.  "  Thou  sentest  fortii  thy 
wrath,  which  consumed  them  as  stubble."  They  have  also 
thought  fit  someliiTres'toadd  the  conjunction  and  when  it  was 
not  necessary,  and  might  well  have  been  spared. 

If  any  one  perceives  not  the  difference,  and,  consequently, 
is  not  satisfied  of  the  truth  of  this  doctrine,  let  him  make  the 
following  experiment  on  the  song  now  under  review.  Let 
him  transcribe  it  by  himself,  carefully  inserting  conjunctions 
and  relatives  in  every  place  which  will  admit  them  in  a  con- 
sistency with  the  sense,  and  then  let  him  try  the  effect  of 
the  whole.  If,  after  all,  he  is  not  convinced,  I  know  no  ar- 
gument in  nature  that  can  weigh  with  him.  For  this  is  one 
of  those  cases  in  which  the  decision  of  every  man's  own 
taste  must  be  final  with  regard  to  hintiself. 

But  those  who  feel  the  difference  in  the  effects  will  permit 
such  as  are  so  disposed  to  speculate  a  little  about  the  cause. 
All  that  come  under  the  cognizance  of  our  senses,  in  the 
operations  either  of  Nature  or  of  Art,  are  the  causes  which 
precede,  and  the  eff'ects  which  follow.  Hence  is  suggested 
to  the  mind  the  notion  of  power,  agency,  or  causation.  The 
notion  or  idea  (call  it  vvhicli  you  please)  is  from  the  very 
frame  of  our  nature  suggested,  necessarily  suggested,  and 
often  instantaneously  suggested  ;  but  still  it  is  suggested, 
and  not  perceived.  1  would  not  choose  to  dispute  with  any 
man  about  a  word,  and,  therefore,  lest  this  expression  should 
appear  exceptionable,  I  declare  my  meaning  to  be  only  this, 
that  it  is  conceived  by  the  understanding,  and  not  percciced  by 
ths  senses,  as  tlie  causes  and  the  eff'ects  themselves  often  are. 
Would  you  then  copy  Nature  in  a  historical  or  descriptive 
poem,  present  to  our  imagination  the  causes  and  the  effects 
in  their  natural  order ;  the  suggestion  of  the  power  or  agency 
which  connects  them  will  as  necessarily  result  from  the  hvely 

lation  to  Ihn  Creator  and  sovereign  of  the  universe.    The  thunder  is  Ood's 
\'oice ;  the  wind,  his  breath  ;  the  heavens,  his  throne  ;  the  earth,  his  foot 
stool ;  the  whirlwind  and  the  tempest  are  the  blasts  of  his  nostrils. 
*•  Esod.,  XV.,  7. 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  nnnTORrc.  397 

image  yon  produce  in  Ihe  fancy,  as  it  results  from  tlic  per- 
ceptiou  of  the  tliiuL's  llu'iuselvcs  wlioii  ihoy  fall  under  the 
cognizance  of  tlie  senses. 

Uul  if  you  should  takrrtho  other  method,  and  connect  wiili 
accuracy  where  there  is  relatiifn,  aUd  with  the  help  of  con- 
junctions and  relatives  deciuce  with  care  effects  i'roni  their 
causes,  and  allow  nothing  of  the  kind  to  pa^s  unnoticed  in 
the  description,  in  lieu  of  a  picture  you  will  present  us  with 
a  piece  of  reasoning  or  decTaliiHtjon  Would  you,  on  the 
contrary,  give  to  reasuning  it^trlf  the  force  and  vivacity  of 
painting,  follow  the  method  first  prescribed,  and  that  even 
when  you  represent  the  energy  of  spiiitual  causes,  which 
were  never  subjected  to  the  scrutiny  of  sense.  You  will 
thus  convert  a  piece  of  abstruse  reflection,  whicli,  however 
just,  makes  but  a  slender  impression  ui)on  the  mind,  into  the 
most  affecting  and  instructive  imagery. 

It  is  in  this  manner  the  Psalmist  treats  that  most  sublime, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  most  abstract  of  ail  subjects,  the  prov- 
idence of  God.  With  what  success  he  treats  it,  every  per- 
son of  taste  and  sensibility  will  judge.  Al"ter  a  few  strictures 
on  the  life  of  man  and  of  llie  inferior  animals,  to  whatever 
element,  air,  or  earth,  or  water,  they  belong,  he  thus  breaks 
forth  :  "  These  wait  all  upon  thee,  that  thou  mayest  give 
iheni  their  meat  in  due  season.  Thou  givest  them,  'i'hey 
gather.  Thou  openest  thy  hand.  They  are  filled  with  good. 
Thou  hidesl  thy  face.  'I'hey  are  troubled.  Thou  takes^ 
away  their  breath.  They  die  and  return  to  their  dust.  'I'hou 
sendest  forth  thy  Spirit.  They  are  created.  Thou  renewest 
the  face  of  the  earth."*  It  must  be  acknowledged,  that  il  is 
not  every  subject,  no,  nor  every  kind  of  composition,  that  re- 
quires, or  even  admits  the  use  of  such  glowing  colours.  The 
psalm  is  of  tlie  nature  of  the  ode,  being,  properly  defined,  a 
sacred  ode;  and  it  is  allowed  that  this  species  of  poesy  de- 
mands more  fire  than  any  other. 

It  may,  indeed,  be  thought  that  the  vivacity  resulting  from 
this  manner  of  composing  is  sufliicienlly  accounted  for,  from 
the  brevity  which  it  occasions,  and  of  which  I  treated  in  tiie 
preceding  chapter.  It  is  an  undoubted  truth,  that  the  brev- 
ity here  contributes  to  the  force  of  the  expression,  but  it  is 
not  solely  to  this  principle  that  the  cflecl  is  to  be  ascri- 
bed. A  good  taste  will  discern  a  dilTerence  in  a  passage  al- 
ready quoted  from  the  song  of  .Moses,  as  it  stands  in  oiu"  v(!r- 
sion,  and  as  it  is  literally  rendered  from  the  Hebrew  ;t  though 
in  both,  the  number  of  words,  and  even  of  syllables,  is  the 
same.  Observe,  also,  the  expression  of  the  Psalmist,  who, 
having  compared  man,  in  respect  of  duration,  to  a  flower 
says  concerning  the  latter,  '"The  wind  pusselh  over  it,  and 

♦  Psalm  civ.,  27-30.  t  Exod.,  xv..  7 


388  riiE  PHILOSOPHY  of  rhetoric. 

It  is  gone."*  Had  he  said,  "  the  wind  passing  over  it,  de- 
stroys it,"  lie  had  expressed  the  same  sentiment  in  few  r 
words,  but  more  weakly. 

But  it  may  be  objected.  If  snch  is  the  power  of  the  figure 
asyndeton,  and  if  the  conjunctive  particles  are  naturally  the 
weakest  pans  in  a  sentence,  whf  nee  comes  it  that  the  figure 

janlysyndeton,  the  reverse  of  the  former,  sliould  be  produc- 
tive of  tiiat  energy  which  rhetoricians  ascril)e  tv  it]  I  an 
swer,  the;  cases  must  be  very  different  which  require  such 
opposite  methods.  Celerity  of  operation,  and  fervour  in  nar- 
ration, are  best  expressed  by  the  firsf.  A  deliberate  atten- 
tion to  every  circumstance,  iis-bcing  of  InTprrrttmoe^-H+ni  to 
this  in  particular, -the  inuJtiplicity  of  the  circumstances,  is 
best  awakened  by  the  second.  The  conjunctions  and  rela- 
tives excluded  by  the  asyndeton  are  such  as  connect  clauses 
and  members  ;  those  repeated  by  the  polyi^yndeton  are  such 
as  connect  single  words  only.  All  connectives  alike  are  set 
aside  by  the  former;  the  latter  is  confined  to  copulatives  and 
disjunctives.  A  few  examples  of  this  will  illustrate  tlie  dif- 
ference. "•  While  the  earth  remainetli,"  said  (lod,  immedi- 
ately after  the  deluge,  "seedtime  and  harvest,  and  cold  and 
heat,  and  summer  and  winter,  and  day  and  night,  shall  not 
cease. "t  Evej;yjliiiig  to  w4rich  a  permanency  of  so  great  im- 
portrmce^ls  secured,  requires  the  most  deliberate  attention. 
And  in  the  following  declaration  of  the  apostle,  much  addi- 
tional weight  and  distinctness  are  given  to  each  particular 
by  the  repetition  of  the  conjunction:  "I  am  persuaded  that. 

-  neither  death,  nor  life,  nor  angels,  nor  principalities,  nor  pow- 
ers, nor  things  present,  nor  things  to  come,  nor  height,  nor 
deptli,  nor  any  other  creature,  shall  be  able  to  separate  us 
from  the  love  of  God. "J 

SECTION  III. 

COMPLEX    SENTENCES. 

Part  I.  Subdivision  of  these  into  Periods  aiul  loose  Sentences, 

1  COME  now  to  the  consideration  of  complex  sentences. 
These  are  of  two  kinds.  They  are  either  periods,  or.seiiten- 
ces  of  a  looser  composition,  for  which  the  language  doth  not 
furnish  us  with  a  particular  name.  A  period  is  a  coinplex 
sentence,  wherein  the  meaning  reinains  suspended  till  the 
whole  is  finished.  The  connexion,  consequently,  is  so  close 
between  the  beginning  and  the  end,  as  to  give  rise  to  the 
name  ■period,  which  signifies  circuit.  The  following  is  such 
a  sentence^"** -Gorrnption  could  not  spread  with  so  nuich 
'success,  thbiigh  reduced  into  system,  and  though  some  min- 
isters, with  equal  impudence  and  folly,  avowed  it  by  them- 

^ Psalm  ciii.,  IG.  t  Gen.,  viii..  22.  t  Rom.,  viii..  33.  39. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  .?S9 

selvns  nnd  tlieir  advocates  to  be  the  priiicipnl  cxpcdiont  by 
which  they  gnveriu'd,  if  a  long  and  almost  imohscrvc'd  pro- 
gression of  causes  and  eflecis  did  not.  prepare  the  eoMJunc- 
tioii."*  'I'lie  criterion  of  a  period  is  lliis:  if  you  stop  any- 
wliere  before  the  end,  tlio  preceding  words  will  not  form  a 
setUence,  and  therefore  cannot  conv(!y  an^'  determined  sense. 
This  is  plaiiily,ilie  case  willi  the  above  example.  'The  first 
verb  being  could,  and  not  r^n,  the  potent-ial  and  not  the  indic- 
ative inood,  shows  that  the  sentence  is  hypothetical,  and  re- 
quires to  its  completion  some  clause  beginning  with  ij\  un- 
less, or  some  other  conditional  panicle.  And  after  you  are 
come  to  the  conjunctior),  you  (ind  no  part  where  \ou  can 
stop  l^fore  the  en<l.t  From  this  account  of  the  nature  of  a 
period,  wc  may  justly  infer  that  it  was  much  easier  in  Greek 
and  Latin  to  write  in  periods  than  it  is  in  Mnglish.  or  per- 
haps in  any  European  tongue.     The  construction  with  them 

*  Dolingb.,  Spirit  of  Patriotism. 

1  It  IS  surprising  itinL  most  im  dern  critics  seem  lo  li.Tve  misinkm  tolnlly 
the  import  of' the  word  penotl.  conlouiuling  it  will)  Ihc  compie.ic  sentence  in 
general,  and  soninlimes  even  witli  the  jiinpie  hiitcirciinisiantiated  sentence. 
Though  none  of  the  anc'enis,  as  far  as  I  remember,  either  tJreek  or  Laiin, 
have  treated  this  mailer  wilh  all  the  precision  that  intgbi  be  wished,  vet  it 
appears  to  me  evident,  I'roin  I  lie  expressions  they  cmjtioy,  the  siinilini<les 
they  use,  and  ihe  examples  they  produce,  that  Ihe  distinction  given  above 
perfectly  coincides  with  their  notions  on  this  subject.  But  nothing  seems 
more  decisive  than  the  instance  which  Demetrius  Phalerius  has  given  ol  a 
period  from  Demosthenes,  and  which,  for  the  sake  of  illnstraiing  ih«*difl'er 
ence,  he  ibas  also  ihrown  into  the  form  of  a  loose  sentence.  1  refer  the 
learned  reader  lo  the  book  itself:  "  fltpj  f/.fi^rti^i;  I.  lA.  The  ancients  (hd 
indeed  sometimes  apply  the  word  period  to  simple  hut  circiimstnniialed  sen  * 
"fences  of  a  certain  structure.  I  shall  give  the  following  example  in  our  cyyn 
language  for  an  illustration:  "At  last,  after  mnch  (atigue,  tlnoii"))  deep 
roads  and  bad  weather,  we  came  with  no  small  difficulty  to  our  journey's 
end."  Otherwise  thus,  "We  came  to  our  journey's  end  at  luxt,  with  nn 
"^nali  tlifficuttv,  after  much/n^'.L,n/f.  through  deep  mails,  and  bad  weather.'" 
The  latter  is  in  the  loose,  the  former  is  in  the  periodic-composition.  Ac- 
cordingly, in  the  latter  there  are,  t)eforc  the  conclusion,  no  less  than  five 
words,  which  1  have  distinguished  hy  the  character,  namely,  on!,  l/i.sl,  iliffi- 
culty,  fntig-iif,  rmuh,  with  any  of  which  the  sentence  might  have  terminated. 
One  would  not  have  expected  that  a  writer  so  accurate  and  knowing  as  M. 
du  Marsais  should  have  so  far  tnistaken  the  meaning  of  the  word  pirioii  \n 
the  usage  of  the  ancients  as  to  define  it  in  this  manner  :  "  La  perioilr  est  un 
assmiitlage  dc  propositinnn,  lierx  eii/r'  ellc.t  par  di^s  coujunclio'is,  et  qvi  toiiffs  pu 
sernhle  font  wt  sens  fini" — "  The  period  is  an  assemblage  of  propositions  con 
nected  by  conjunct  iors,  and  piaking  altogether  one  complete  sense." — {I'rin- 
cipes  de  Graminnirf:,  La  Periode.)  This  is  a  proper  definition  of  a  coin[i!ex 
sentence;  and  that  he  meant  no  more  is  manilest  from  all  his  subsequent 
illnstraiions.  Take  the  tbiiowing  for  an  example,  which  he  gives  in  anothci 
place  of  the  same  work  :  "  // ;/  a  un  avanln^e  ri'l  h  tire  instrait  ;  vims  il  ;i« 
/nut  pas  que  ret  nvnnln^e  inspirr  de  Vor^wil" — "  'I'heie  is  a  real  a<lvanlage  ill 
be.ng  insiructe<l ;  but  we  ought  not  to  be  proud  of  this  advantage."  Ho 
adds,  '•  Le  mais  raproche  les  deux  propositions  on  meml)res  de  la  periode, 
et  les  met  en  oppob-ition" — "  The  A/(/  connects  the  two  propositions  or  mem 
bers  of  the  period,  and  sets  them  in  opposition.'' — {Dcs  Cmijonclinns.)  It  i> 
evident  that  the  sentence  adduced  is  no  period  in  the  .sense  of  the  ancienla 
K  K  2 


390  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

dopencjed  mostly  on  inflection  ;  consequently,  the  amnge- 
mcni,  which  iiscertains  the  character  of  the  sentence  in  re- 
spect of  composition,  was  very  nuich  in  their  own  power; 
with  us,  on  the  contrary,  the  constrnction  depends  mostly  on 
arrangement,  which  is  therefore  comparatively  very  little  in 
our  power.  Accordingly,  as  the  sense  in  every  sentence  ^ 
Iiaiigs  entirely  on  the  verb,  one  ordinary  way  with  them  of  ^ 
keeping  the  sense  suspended  was  by  reserving  the  verb  to 
the  end.  This,  in  most  cases,  the  structure  of  modern  lan- 
guages will  not  permit  us  to  imitate.  Aa\  example  of  a  com- 
plex sentence,  that  is  not  a  period,  I  shall  produce  from  the 
same j^erformance,'"'^ One  party  had  given  their  whole  at- 

"^entT6n,'""diTniTg"'?everal  years,  to  the  project  of  enriching 
themselves  and  impoverishing  the  rest  of  the  natinu ;  and  by 
these  and  other  means,  of  establishing  \.\\fi'\v  dominion  under 

•    the  gocernment,  and  with  the  favour  of  a  family  who  were 

'  foretfjncrs,  and  therefore  might  believe  that  they  weie  estab- 
lished on  the  throne  by  the  good  will  and  strength  of  this 

[.party  alone."  The  criterion  of  such  loosiiseft  tehees  is  as 
foll(iiy.s_i_Ti»€re  will  always  be  Toimd  in  them  one  place  at 
least,  before  the  end,  at  which,  if  you  make  a  stop,  the  con- 
struction of  the  preceding  part  wilF  render  it  a  complete  sen- 
tence. Thus  in  the  example  now  given,  whether  you  stop  at 
the  word  themscltcs,  at  nation,  at-  dominion,  at  government,  or 
?i\  foreigners,  all  which  word-s  are  marked  in  the  quotation  in 
italics,  you  will  find  you  have  read  a  perfect  sentence. 

Wherefore,  then,  it  may  be  asked,  is  this  denominated  one 
sentence,  and  not  several?  For  this  reason,  that  though  the 
preceding  words,  when  you  have  reached  any  of  the  stops 
above  mentioned,  will  make  sense,  and  may  be  construed 
separately,  the  same  cannot  be  said  of  the  words  which  fol- 
lovv.  In  a  period,  the  dependance  of  the  nunjbers  is  recipro- 
cal ;  in  a  loose  sentence,  the  former  members  have  not  a 
necessary  dependance  on  the  latter,  wliereas  the  latter  de-  • 
pend  entirely  on  the  former.  Indeed,  if  both  former  and  lat- 
ter members  are,  in  respect  of  construction,  alike  inde- 
pendent on  one  anotluir.  they  do  not  constitute  one  sentence, 
but  two  or  more.  And  here  I  shall  remark,  by-the-way,  that 
it  is  by  applying  the  observation  just  now  made,  and  not 
alwa\'s  by  the  pointing,  even  where  the  laws  of  punctuation 
are  most  strictly  observed,  that  we  can  discriminate  ?en- 
>ences.  When  they  are  closely  related  in  respect  of  sense, 
and  when  the  sentences  themselves  are  simple,  they  arc  for 
(he  most  part  sepaniled  only  by  commas  or  by  semicolons, 
rarely  by  colons,  and  almost  never  by  points.  In  this  w;iy 
tlu!  passages  above  quoted  from  the  song  of  iMoses  and  the 
Psalms  are  pointed  in  all  our  English  Bibles. 

But  there  is  an  intermediate  sort  of  sentences  which  must 
not  be  altogether  overlooked,  though  they  are  neither  entirely 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  39 

loose  nor  perfect,  periods.  Of  this  sort  is  the  following: 
"Tlie  other  iiislilntioii,"  he  is  spenkiiig  of  the  Eucharist, 
"has  been  so  disgui'ied  by  ornament,  ||  and  so  much  directed 
in  your  church,  at  least,  to  a  different  purpose  from  com- 
memoration, tliat  if  tiie  disciples  were  to  assemble  at  Easter 
in  the  chapel  of  liis  holiness,  Peter  would  know  his  successor 
hs  little  II  as  Christ  would  acknowledge  his  cimr ;  and  the  rest 
would. be  unable  to  guess  ||  what  tlie  cereinouy  represented  || 
or  intended. '■*  This  sentence  may  be  distributed  into  four 
members.  The  first  is  complex,  including  two  clauses,  and 
ends  at  cominenuira/ion.  The  second  is  simph^  ending  at  ho- 
liness. It  is  evident  that  the  sentence  could  not  terminate  at 
cither  of  these  places,  or  at  any  of  the  interm(;diate  word.s. 
The  third  member  is  subdivided  into  two  cla'uses,  and  ends 
at  vicar.  It  is  equally  evident  that  if  the  sentence  Iiad  been 
concluded  here,  there  would  have  been  no  defect  in  the  con- 
struction. The  fourth  member,  which  concludes  the  sen- 
tence, is  also  compound,  and  admits  a  subdivision  into  three 
clauses.  At  the  word  represented,  which  finishes  the  second 
clause,  the  sentence  might  have  terminated.  The  two  words 
which  could  have  admitted  a  full  slop  after  them  are  distin- 
guished by  italics,  (^are  hath  also  been  taken  to  discriminate 
tlie  members  and  the  clauses.  It  may.  however,  justly  be 
affirmed,  liiat  when  the  additional  clause  or  clauses  are,  as 
in  the  preceding  example,  intimately  connected  willi  the 
foregoing  words,  the  sentence  may  still  be  considered  as  a 
period,  since  it  hath  much  the  same  effect.  Perhaps  some 
of  the  examples  of  periods  to  be  produced  in  the  sequel,  if 
examined  very  critically,  would  fail  under  that  denomination. 
But  this  is  of  little  or  no  consequence. 

On  comparing  the  two  kinds  of  complex  sentences  togeth- 
er, to  wit,  the   period  and  the  loose   sentence,  we  find  that 
each  hath  its   advantages   and  disadvantages.     The   fonricr 
savours  more  of  artifice  and  design,  the  kuter  seem.s  more 
the  result  of  pure  Nature.     The  period  is  nevertheless  more 
susceptible  of  vivacity  and  force  ;  the  loose  sentence  is  apt, 
as  it  were,  to  languish  and  grow  tiresome.     Tlie  first  is  more 
adapted  to  the  style  of  the  writer,  the  second  to  timt  of  the 
speaker.     But  as  that  style  is  best,  whether  written  or  spo- 
ken, which  hath  a  proper  mixture  of  both,  so  there  are  some 
things  in  every  species  of  discour.se  which  require  a  looser, 
and  some  which  require  a  preciser  manner.     In  general,  the 
use  of  periods  best  suits  the  dignity  of  the  historian,  the  po-      f\^ 
litical  writer,  and  the  philosopher.     The  other  manner  more    ^r  . 
befits  the  facility  which  ouglit  to  predominate  in  essays,  dia-  X^\ 
logues,  familiar  letters,  and  moral  tales.     These   approach    \j^  ' 
nearer  the  style  of  conversation,  into  which  periods  can  very 
rarely  find  admittance.     In  .some  kinds  of  discourses  ialend- 
*  Bol.  Phil.,  Es.  iv.,  sect.  vii. 


392  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

ed  to  be  pronouncod,  but  not  delivered  to  the  public  in  wri- 
ting-, tliey  inny  properly  find  a  place  in  the  exordium  and 
narration,  for  thus  far  some  allowance  is  made  for  prepara- 
tion ;  but  are  not  so  seasonable,  unless  very  short,  in  the  jxr- 
gumentative  part  and  the  pathetic. 

Part  II.   Observations  on  Periods,  and  on  the  Use  of  Antithesis 
in  the  Composition  of  Sentences. 

I  now  proceed  to  offer  some  observations  on  the  period. 
It  hath  been  affirmed  to  have  more  energy  than  a  sentence 
loosely  composed.  The  reason  is  this  :  The  strength  which 
is  diffused  through  the  latter  is  in  the  former  collected,  as  it 
were,  into  a  single  point.  ^^^ja-4efer4,he  blow  a  little,  but  it 
is  solely  that  you  may  briifg  it  down  with  greater  weight 
But  in  ordei:4o  avoid  .gbscurity  as  well  as  the  display  of  art, 
rhetoricians  have" generally  prescribed  that  a  period  should 
not  consist  of  more  than  four  members.  For  my  own  part, 
as  members  of  sentences  differ  exceedingly  both  in  length 
and  in  structure  from  one  another,  I  do  not  see  how  any 
general  rule  can  be  established  to  ascertain  theii"  number. 
A  period  consisting  of  but  two  members  may  easily  be  found, 
that  is  at  once  longer,  more  artificial,  and  more  obscure,  than 
another  consisting  of  five.  The  only  rule  which  will  never 
fail  is  to  beware  both  of  prolixity,  and  of  intricacy,  and  the 
only  competent  judges  in  the  case  are  good  sense  and  a  good 
ear.  •  .  . 

A  great  deal  hath  been  said,  both  by  ancient  critics  and  by 
modern,  on  the  formation  and  turn  of  periods.  But  their  re- 
marks are  chiefly  calculated  with  a  view  to  harmony.  In 
order  to  prevent  the  necessity  of  repeating  afterward,  I  shall 
take  no  notice  of  these  remarks  at  present,  though  the  rules 
founded  on  them  do  also  in  a  certain  degree  contribute  both 
to  perspicuity  and  to  strength. 

That  kind  of  period  which  hath  most  vivacity  is  commonly 
that  wherein  you  find  an  antithesis  in  the.menibers,  the  sev- 
eral parts  of  one  having  a  similarity  to  thdse  of  the  other, 
adapted  to  some  resemblance  in  the  sense.  The  effect  pro- 
duced by  the  corresponding  members  in  such  a  sentence  is 
like  that  produced  in  a  picture  where  the  figures  of  the  group 
are  not  all  on  a  side,  with  their  faces  turned  the  same  way, 
but  are  made  to  contrast  each  other  by  their  several  posi- 
tions. Besides,  this  kind  of  periods  is  generally  the  most 
perspicuous.  There  is  in  them  not  only  that  original  light 
wliich  results  from  the  expression  when  suitable,  but  there 
is  also  that  which  is  reflected  reciprocally  from  the  opposed 
members.  The  relation  between  these  is  so  strongly  marked, 
that  il  is  next  to  impossible  to  lose  sight  of  it.  The  same 
quality  makes  them  also  easier  for  the  memory. 
/Yet,  to  counterbalance  these  advantages,  this  sort  of  pe- 


THE  rniLosoniY  of  nriETonir.  303 

riod  oftnn  nppears  moro  artful  and  studied  tTTan  any  dtlmr. 
I  fefiy  f»/(V»,  because  nothing  can  be  more  evident  than  that 
this  is  not  always  the  case.  Some  antitheses  seem  to  arise 
so  naturally  out  of  the  subject,  tliat  it  is  scarcely  possible  in 
another  manner  to  express  the  sentiment.  Accordinglj',  we 
discover  them  even  in  the  Scriptures,  the  style  of  which  is 
perhaps  the  most  artless,  the  most  natural,  the  most  unaf- 
fected that  is  to  be  found  in  anj'  composition  now  extant 

But  1  shall  satisfy  myself  with  producintj  a  few  specimens 
of  this  figure,  mostly  taken  from  the  noble  author  lately 
quoted,  who  is  commonly  very  successful  in  applying  it. 
"If  Cato,"  says  he,  "  may  be  censured,  severely  indeed,  but 
justly.  11  for  abandoning  the  cause  of  liberty,  ||  which  he  wouUI 
not,  however,  survive,  .  .  what  shall  we  say  of  those  ||  who 
embrace  it  faintly,  ||  pursue  it  irresolutely.  .  .  grow  tired  of 
it  II  when  they  have  much  to  hope,  .  .  and  give  it  up  ||  wliea 
they  have  nothing  to  fear!"*  In  this  period  there  is  a  double 
antitliesis  ;  the  two  clauses  whicli  follow  tlie  pronoun  lliose 
are  contrasted,  so  are  also  the  two  members  (each  consist- 
ing of  two  clauses)  which  conclude  the  sentence.  Another 
specimen  of  a  double  antithesis,  differently  disposed,  in  which 
he  hath  not  been  so  fortunate,!  shall  produce  from  the  same 
work.  "Eloquence  that  leads  mankind  by  llie  ears,  |  gives 
a  noblec  superiority  j  than  power  that  every  dunce  may  use, 
I  orffaud  that  every  knave  may  employ,  j  to  lead  them  by 
tlie  nose."  Here  the  two  intermediate  clauses  a"re  contrast- 
ed, S9  are  also  the  first  and  the  last.  But  there  is  this  differ- 
ence. In  the  intermediate  members,  there  is  a  justness  in 
the  thought  as  well  as  in  the  expression,  an  essential  requi- 
site in  this  figure.  In  the  other  two  members  the  antithesis 
is  merely  verbal,  and  is,  therefore,  at  best  but  a  trifling  play 
npon  the  words.  We  see  the  connexion  which  eloquence 
has  with  the  ears,  but  it  would  puzzle  (Edipus  himself 
to  discover  the  coimexion  which  either  power  or  fraud  has 
with  the  nose.  'J'he  author,  to  make  out  the  contrast,  is 
in  this  instance  obliged  to  betake  himself  to  low  and  sense- 
less cant. 

Sometimes,  though  rarely,  the  antithesis  affects  three  sev- 
eral clauses.  In  this  case  the  clauses  ought  to  be  very  short, 
that  the  artifice  may  not  be  too  apparent.  Sometimes,  too, 
the  antithesis  is  not  in  the  different  members  of  the  same 
sentence,  but  in  different  sentences.  Both  the  last  observa- 
tions are  exemplified  in  the  following  quotation  from  the 
same  performance  :  "  He  can  bribe,  ||  but  he  cannot  seduce. 
He  can  buy,  ||  but  he  cannot  gain.  He  can  lie,  ||  but  he  can 
not  deceive."  There  is  likewise  in  each  sentence  a  little  of 
antithesis  between  the  very  short  clauses  themselves. 

Neither  is  this  figure  entirely  confined  to  periods.     Sen- 
*  On  the  Spirit  of  Patnotisia 


394  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

tences  of  looser  composition  admit  it;  but  the  difference 
here  is  the  less  observable,  that  an  antithesis  well  conducted 
produces  tlie  effect  of  a  period,  by  preventing  the  languor 
whicli  invariably  attends  a  loose  senience,  il"  it  happen  to  be 
■ong.  The  following  is  an  instance  of  antithesis  in  such  a 
sentence  :  "  No  man  is  able  to  make  a  juster  application  of 
what  hath  been  here  adi:a?iced,  to  the  most  important  inter- 
ests of  your  coiintri/,  to  the  true  interest  of  yoiu-  royal  master, 
and  to  your  private  interest  too ;  if  that  will  add,  as  I  presume 
it  will,  some  weight  to  the  scale;  and  if  that  requires,  as  1 
presume  it  does,  a  regard  to  futurity  as  well  as  to  the  present 
moment."*  That  this  is  a  loose  sentence,  a  little  attention 
will  satisfy  every  reader.  I  have  marked  the  words  in  ital- 
ics at  which,  without  violating  the  rules  of  grammar,  it  might 
have  terminated.  I  acknowledge,  however,  that  the  marks 
of  art  are  rather  too  visible  in  the  composition. 

Sometimes  an  antithesis  is  happily  carried  through  two  or 
three  sentences,  where  the  sentences  are  not  contrasted  with 
one  another,  as  in  the  example  already  given,  but  where  the 
same  words  are  contrasted  in  the  different  members  of  each 
sentence  somewhat  differently.  Such  an  antithesis  on  the 
words  men,  angels,  and  gods  you  have  in  tlie  two  following 
couplets : 

"  Pride  still  is  aiming  at  the  bless'd  abodes ; 
Mkn  would  be  angels,  H  angei.s  would  be  gods. 
Aspiring  to  be  gous,  ||  if  angels  fell ; 
Aspiring  to  be  angels,  1|  men  rebel."} 

The  like  varied  opposition  in  the  words  principles,  7neans,  and 
ends  may  be  observed  in  the  two  following  sentences  :  "  They 
are  designed  to  assert  and  vindicate  the  honour  of  the  revolu- 
tion :  of  the  principles  established,  of  the  means  employed, 
and  of  the  ends  obtained  by  it.  They  are  designed  to  ex- 
plode our  former  distinctions,  and  to  unite  men  of  all  de- 
nominations in  the  support  of  these  principles,  in  the  defence 
of  these  means,  and  in  the  pursuit  of  these  ends. "J  You 
have  in  the  subsequent  quotation  an  antithesis  on  the  words 
true  and  ^'w5/,  which  runs  through  three  successive  sentences. 
"  The  anecdotes  here  related  were  true,  and  the  reflections 
made  upon  them  were  just  many  years  ago.  The  former 
would  not  have  been  related,  if  he  who  related  them  had  not 
known  them  to  be  true  ;  nor  the  latter  have  been  made,  if  he 
who  made  them  had  not  thought  them  just :  and  if  they  were 
true  and  just  then,  they  must  be  true  and  just  now,  and 
always. "i^ 

Sometimes  the  words  contrasted  in  the  second  clause  are 

*  Dedication  to  the  Dissertation  on  Parties.  t  Essay  on  Man 

t  Dedication  to  the  Dissertaion  on  Parties. 
^  Advertisement  to  the  Letters  on  Patriotism. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC.  395 

mostly  the  same  tliat  are  used  in  the  first,  only  the  construc- 
tion ai.d  the  arrangement  are  inverted,  as  in  this  passage  : 
'•  The  old  inay  inform  the  young,  ||  and  llie  young  may  uiii- 
mate  the  old."*  In  Greek  and  Laiin  this  kind  of  antithesis 
generally  receives  an  additional  beauty  from  the  change 
made  in  the  inflection,  which  is  necessary  in  those  ancieitt 
liinguHges  for  ascertaining  what  in  modern  tongues  is  ascer- 
tained solely  by  the  arrangement.!  This  obtains  sometimes, 
but  more  rarely,  in  our  own  language,  as  in  these  lines  of 
Pope  : 

"  Whate'er  of  mongrel  no  one  class  atimits, 
A  wit  with  dunces,  ||  and  a  dunce  with  wits."t 

Something  pretty  similar  is  also  to  be  remarked  when  the 
words  in  the  contrasted  members  remain  the  same  under 
different  inflections,  the  construction  varied,  but  not  invert- 
ed. And  this  is  the  last  variety  of  the  antithesis  that  I  shall 
specify,  for  to  enumerate  them  all  would  be  impossible. 
You  have  an  example  of  this  kind  of  contrast  in  the  last  line 
of  the  following  couplet : 

"Leave  such  to  trifle  with  more  grace  and  ease, 
Whom  folly  pleases,  ||  and — whose  follies  please. "'Ji 

I  shall  now  consider  both  what  the  merit  of  the  antithesis 
IS,  and  to  what  kind  of  composition  it  is  best  adapted.  It 
hath  been  remarked  already,  and  cannot  be  justly  ques- 
tioi\^d,  that  it  often  contributes  both  to  vivacity  and  per- 
spic\iity. :  on  the  olheThand,  it  TTafirijeen  charged  with  bear- 
ing the  manifest  signatures  both  of  artifice  and  of  puerility  : 

*  Dedication  to  the  Dissertation  on  Parties. 

t  An  instance  of  this  is  that  given  hy  Quint.,  1.  ix..  c.  iii. :  "  Non  lit  ed»m 
vivo,  sed  ut  vivam  edo."  A  literal  translation  into  P^nglish,"  I  do  not  live 
that  I  may  eat,  but  I  eat  that  I  may  live,"  preserves  the  antithesis,  but  nei- 
ther the  vivacity  nor  the  force  of  the  original.  The  want  of  inlieclion  is  one 
reason  of  the  inferiority,  biu  not  the  only  reason.  It  weakens  the  expression 
that  we  must  emplov  lideen  words  for  vvliat  is  expressed  in  Latin  with 
equal  perspicuity  in  eight.  Perhaps  il  would  be  better  rendered,  though  not 
so  e.vplicilly,  "  I  do  not  live  to  eal,  i>ut  I  eat  to  live."  Another  example  in 
point  is  the  noted  epigram  of  Ausonius  : 

"Infeli.^  Dido,  nnlli  bene,  nupta  marilo. 
Hoc  pereunte,  fugis  :  hoc  fugienle,  peris." 
But  though  it  is  chiefly  in  this  sort,  which  the  ancients  called  ovTi/itriCoXi?, 
that  the  advantage  of  varied  inllections  appears,  it  is  not  in  this  sort  only. 
In  all  antitheses,  without  exception,  the  similar  endings  of  tlie  contrasted 
words  add  both  light  and  energy  to  the  expression.  Nothing  can  better  il- 
lustrate this  than  the  compliment  paid  to  Cajsar  by  Cicero,  in  his  pleading 
for  Ligarius  :  "  Nihil  habet  nee  fortuna  tua  majus  qnam  ut  po.ssis,  nee  nat- 
V.rn  tua  melius  quam  nt  veils,  conservarc  qiiam  plurimos."  This,  perhaps, 
would  appear  to  us  rather  too  artificial.  Hut  this  appearance  ariseili  mere- 
ly from  the  diHerent  structure  of  modern  languages.  What  would  \n  most 
c;\ses  be  impossible  to  us,  the  genius  of  their  tongue  rendered  not  only  easy 
to  them,  but  almost  unavoidable.  t  Dunciad,  b.  iv 

■,  Pope's  Imitations  «f  Horace,  b  ii.,  Ep.  ii. 


396  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HHETORIC. 

of  artifice,  because  of  the  nice  adjustment  of  the  correspond 
ent  clauses;  of  puerility,  because  of  the  supposed  insignifi- 
cance of  the  task  of  balancing  words  and  syllables.  The  lat- 
ter  of  these  charges  results  so  entirely  from  the  former,  that 
an  answer  to  one  is  an  answer  to  both.  It  is  solely  the  ap- 
pearance of  artifice  that  conveys  the  notion  of  a  task,  and 
thereby  gives  rise  to  the  charge  of  childishness.  If,  there- 
fore, in  any  instance  an  antithesis  cannot  be  reckoned  arti- 
ficial, it  will  not,  at  least  on  account  of  the  expression,  be 
deemed  puerile. 

It  was  remarked,  when  I  entered  on  the  consideration  of 
this  figure,  that  it  sometimes  ariselh  so  naturally  from  the 
subject  as  to  appear  inevitable.  This  particularly  is  the  case 
where  a  comparison  is  cither  directly  made  or  only  hinted. 
Samuel,  we  are  told,  said  to  Agag,  immediately  before  he 
killed  him,  "As  thy  sword  hath  made  women  childless,  so 
shall  thy  mother  be  childless  among  women."*  The  senti- 
ment here  expressed,  namely,  that  the  treatment  which  the 
tyrant  was  to  receive  was  due  to  him  by  the  law  of  retalia- 
tion, rendered  some  antithesis  in  the  w^ords  scarcely  avoidable. 
Yet  the  antithesis  in  this  passage  is  more  in  the  thought  than 
in  the  expression,  as  the  words  in  the  contrasted  clauses  are 
not  opposed  to  each  other  with  that  nicety  which  many  au- 
thors would  have  employed. 

But,  though  accuracy  of  opposition  may  on  some  occa- 
sions have  a  very  good  eflfect,  this  will  never  be  the  case 
where  it  gives  rise  to  anything  that  appears  forced  in  the 
construction,  unnatural  in  the  arrangement,  or  unharmoni- 
ous  in  the  cadence.  Nature,  ease,  and  fluency  are  first  to 
be,regarded.  In  the  two  following  examples  you  have  pre- 
cision in  the  contrast,  without  the  appearance  of  too  much 
art  in  the  expression.  "  Beware  of  the  ides  of  March,"  said 
the  Roman  augur  to  Julius  Caesar.  "  Beware  of  the  month 
of  May,"  says  the  British  Spectator  to  his  fair  countrywomen. 
Again,  "  I  must  observe,  that  as  in  some  climates  there  is  a 
perpetual  spring,  so  in  some  female  constitutions  there  is  a 
perpetual  May."t  In  either  instance,  if  the  comparison  itself 
escape  censure,  the  expression  will  be  pronounced  faultless. 
An  antithesis,  therefore,  doth  not  always  necessarily  imply 
art :  and  if  in  some  instances  it  doth  to  a  certain  degree  im- 
ply art,  it  ought  to  be  remembered  that  there  are  some  kinds 
of  composition  which  not  only  admit,  but  even  require,  a  more 
elaborate  diction  than  other  kinds,  and  that  in  every  kind  of 
composition  there  are  some  parts  wherein  even  the  display 
of  art  is  more  allowable  than  in  other  parts.  The  observa- 
tions with  regard  to  the  proper  subjects  for  periods  will  very 
nearly  answer  here,  and  therefore  need  not  be  repeated. 

«  1  Sam.,  XV.,  33.  t  Spectator,  No.,  395,  X. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  397 

The  antithesis,  it  is  thought,  is  particularly  unfavourable 
to  persuasion,  and  therefore  quite  unfit  for  the  more  vehe- 
ment and  argumentative  parts  of  a  discourse.  This  is  true 
of  some  sorts  of  antithesis  (for  they  differ  greatly  iu  their 
nature),  but  it  is  not  true  of  all.  It  is  true  of  such  as  are 
sometimes  found  in  long  and  complicated  sentences,  but  it  is 
not  true  of  those  which  sentences  of  a  less  compound  lutlure 
may  admit.  The  enthymeme  itself,  the  common  syllogism 
of  orators,  is  often  successfully  cast  into  this  mould.  De- 
metrius Phalereus,  in  his  treatise  of  elocution,  hath  given  us 
an  example  of  this,  from  one  of  the  most  eloquent  orations 
of  Demosthenes  against  his  famous  rival.  The  example, 
translated  into  English,  equally  suits  our  present  purpose. 
"  For  as,  if  any  of  those  had  then  been  condemned,  ||  you  wotild 
not  now  have  transgressed ;  so  if  you  should  now  be  con- 
demned, II  others  will  not  hereafter  transgress."*  The  sen- 
tence is,  besides,  a  perfect  period,  consisting  of  two  members, 
each  of  which  is  subdivided  into  two  clauses.  I  shall  give 
the  same  argument  with  as  little  apparent  antithesis  as  pos- 
sible, by  imitating  the  attempt  which  Demetrius  hath  made 
to  express  the  sense  in  a  looser  manner.  "  Do  not  overlook 
this  transgression  of  your  laws ;  for  if  such  transgressors 
were  punished,  this  man  would  not  now  have  acted  as  he 
hath  done  ;  nor  will  another  do  so  afterward,  if  he  should 
be  condemned  on  this  occasion."!  The  argument  is  the 
same,  though  much  leiis  forcibly,  and  even  less  naturally  ex- 
pressed. But  if  tho  cn'.hymeme  is  often  cast  into  the  form 
of  antithesis,  we  ni-.y  say  of  the  dilemma,  a  species  of  argu- 
ment in  like  nr^.y.ice  frequent  with  orators,  that  it  is  hardly 
susceptible  of  a.'jltivir  jovm,  as  in  that  given  by  Cicero  :  "  If 
he  is  a  bad  ma'/,  why  do  you  associate  with  him^  if  he  is  a 
good  man,  whv  Jo  you  accuse  himV.'J  Nor  are  these  the 
only  sorts  of  argument  that  may  be  used  in  this  manner. 
There  is  hari'y  any  which  may  not  in  some  cases  derive 
both  light  au'l  energy  from  this  figure.  What  can  be  more 
cogently  urg  ',d,  or  better  adapted  for  silencing  contradiction, 
than  the  antwer  which  Balaam  gave  Balak,  who  used  vari- 
ous expedients  to  induce  iiim  to  turn  the  blessing  he  had 
pronounced  on  Israel  into  a  curse  ^  Yet  the  prophet's  reply 
runs  wholly  in  antithesis.  "  God  is  not  a  man,  ||  that  ho 
should  lie  ;   .   .  neither  the  son  of  man,  ||  that  he  should  re- 

*  Ilept  'Ep/i.  AA.  S,ai:tp  ynp  «rij  CAtivuf  faXu).  trv  ra  O'otycav  cypaxpa;'  olrwg 
av  cv  vtiv  (iXuij.  aWo;  ov  yijoi^ti. 

t  n£;;i  'E;;^.  A.\.  M/jirir/vtrcrs  toi;  ra  rvpayoua  Ypa<povaiV  ctyap  ckwXvovto, 
ovk  av  vvv  o'vTo;  Tuvra  eypaiptv  oui5'  hcpo;  tri  yp:i.\j/ct.  tovtuv  ivv  uXiovroi. 

+  De  [nveiuione,  111),  i.  As  the  aiuitliesis  in  the  words  is  more  perfect, 
and  the  expression  more  simple  in  the  Latin  than  it  is  possih!?  to  rendei 
them  m  a  translation  into  any  modem  tongue,  so  the  argument  i'se!<"  np 
pears  more  forcible.  "  Si  improbus  ct,  cur  uteris  (  sin  probus,  cur  accu 
sas  ?" 

L  I. 


398  THE    PHILOSOPnY   OP    RHETORIC. 

pent.  Hath  he  said,  ||  and  shall  he  not  do  it  ?  .  .  or  hath  he 
.spoken.  ||  and  shall  lie  not  make  it  good  V*  In  the  same  anti- 
thetic form  the  Psalmist  disposeth  his  argument  in  support 
of  the  Divine  knowledge.  "  He  that  planted  the  ear,  |(  shall 
he  not  hear?  Me  that  formed  the  eye,  ||  shall  he  not  see  ?''t 
He  argues  from  the  effect  to  the  cause,  the  only  way  in 
wliich  we  can  argue  intelligibly  concerning  the  Divine  attri- 
butes. But  it  wonld  not  be  easy,  1  imagine,  to  give  in  so  few 
words  either  a  more  perspicuous  or  a  more  persuasive  turn 
to  the  reasoning.  It  is  not,  then,  every  kind  of  antithesis 
that  either  savours  of  artifice  or  is  unsuited  to  persuasion. 

One  thing  to  which  it  seems  agreed  on  all  sides  that  this 
figure  is  particularly  adapted,  is  the  drawing  of  characters. 
You  hardly  now  meet  with  a  character,  either  in  prose  or  in 
verse,  that  is  not  wholly  delineated  in  antithesis.  This  usage 
is  perhaps  excessive.  Yet  the  fitness  of  the  manner  can 
scarcely  be  questioned,  when  one  considers  that  the  contrast- 
ed features  in  this  moral  painting  serve  to  ascertain  the  di- 
rection and  boundaries  of  one  another  with  greater  precision 
than  could  otherwise  be  accomplished.  It  is  too  nice  a  mat- 
ter, without  the  aid  of  this  artifice,  for  even  the  most  copious 
and  expressive  language.  For  a  specimen  in  this  way  take 
these  lines  of  Pope  : 

"  Should  such  a  man,  too  fond  to  rule  alone, 
Bear,  like  the  Turk,  no  brother  near  the  throne, 
View  him  wiih  scornful,  yel  with  jealous  eyes, 
And  hate  for  arts  that  caused  iiiiiiseif  to  rise  ; 
Damn  with  faint  praise,  |!  assent  with  civil  leer, 
.And  withoDl  sneering,  teach  the  rest  to  sneer; 
Willing  to  wound,  ||  and  yet — afraid  to  strike, 
Just  hint  a  fault,  |1  and — hesitate  dislike; 
Alike  reserveil  to  blame  or  to  commend, 
A  timVous  foe,  ||  by  (tatlerers  besieged. 
And  so  obliging  |1  that  lie  ne'er  obliged. "J 

With  what  a  masterly  hand  are  the  colours  in  this  picture 
blended  !  and  how  admirably  do  the  diflferent  traits,  thus  op- 
posed, serve,  as  it  were,  to  touch  up  and  shade  one  another! 
I  would  not  be  understood  by  this  to  signify  my  opinion  of 
its  likeness  to  the  original.  I  should  be  sorry  to  tliink  that 
it  deserves  this  praise.  The  poet  had  received,  or  fancied  he 
had  received,  great  provocation.  A  perfect  iinpartiality  in 
one  under  the  influence  of  resentment  is  more  than  can  be 
expected  from  human  nature.  I  only  speak  of  the  character 
here  exhibited,  as  one  who,  speaking  of  a  portrait,  without 
knowing  the  person  for  whom  it  was  drawn,  says  it  was  well 
painted,  and  that  there  is  both  life  and  expression  in  the 
countenance. 

If  there  be  any  style  of  composition  which  excludes  an- 

♦  Numb.,  xx.Tdi  ,19.  t  Psalm  xciv.,  9. 

t  Prologue  to  the  SatL'ea. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  399 

litliesis  altogether  (for  I  am  not  positive  that  there  is),  it  is 
the  pathetic.  But  the  true  reason  wliich  hath  induced  some 
critics  immoderately  to  decry  this  figure  is,  that  some  au- 
thors are  disposed  immoderately  to  employ  il.  Que  extreme 
naturally  drives  those  who  p(!rceivc  llie  error  to  the  o[)posile 
extreme.  Il  rarely  leaves  them,  even  tliough  persons  of  good 
sense  and  ciitical  discernment,  precisely  where  they  were 
before.  Such  is  the  repulsive  power  of  jarring  tastes.  Nay, 
there  is  a  kind  of  mode,  which  in  these,  as  well  as  in  other 
matters,  often  influences  our  censures  without  our  knowmg 
it.  Tt  is  this  which  sometimes  leads  us  to  condemn  as  critics 
what  as  autliors  we  ourselves  practice.  Witness  the  foUow- 
htg  reproach  from  tiie  author  just  now  quoted. 
"I  see  a  chief  who  h'ads  my  chosen  sons, 
All  aini'd  with  points,  antitheses,  anil  puns."* 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  certain  that,  the  more  agreeable 
the  apposite  and  temperate  use  of  this  figure  is,  the  more 
oflTensive  is  the  abuse,  or,  which  is  nearly  the  same,  the  im- 
moderate use  of  it.  When  used  moderately,  the  appearance 
of  art,  which  it  might  otherwise  have,  is  veiled,  partly  by  the 
energy  of  the  expression,  which  doth  not  permit  the  hearer 
at  first  to  attend  critically  to  the  composition,  and  partly  by 
the  simplicity,  or,  at  least,  the  more  artless  structure,  boih 
of  the  preceding  sentences  and  of  the  following.  But  if  :< 
discourse  run  in  a  continued  string  of  antithesis,  it  is  im- 
possible the  hearer  should  not  become  sensible  of  this  par- 
ticularity. The  art  is  in  that  case  quite  naked.  Then,  in- 
deed, the  frequency  of  the  figure  renders  it  insipid,  the  same- 
ness tiresome,  and  the  artifice  insufferable. 

The  only  original  qualities  of  style  which  are  excluded 
from  no  part  of  a  performance,  nay,  which  ought,  on  the 
contrary,  to  pervade  the  whole,  are  purity  and  perspicuity. 
'J'he  others  are  suited  merely  to  particular  subjects  and  oc 
casions.  And  if  this  be  true  of  the  qualities  themselves  it 
must  certainly  be  true  of  the  tropes  and  figures  which  are 
subservient  to  these  qualities.  In  the  art  of  cooker}',  those 
spiceries  which  give  the  highest  relish  must  be  used  the  most 
sparingly.  Who,  then,  could  endure  a  dish  wherein  these 
were  the  only  ingredients  1  There  is  no  trope  or  figure  that 
is  not  capable  of  a  good  effect ;  I  do  not  except  those  which 
are  reckoned  of  the  lowest  value,  alliteration,  paronomasis, 
or  even  pun.  But  then  the  effect  depends  entirely  on  the 
circumstances.  If  these  are  not  properly  adjusted,  it  is 
always  different  from  what  it  was  intended  to  be,  and  often 
tlfe  reverse. 

'i'he,antithesis,  in  particular,  gives  a  kind  of  lustre  and  ein- 
phasis  to  the  expression.     It  is  the  conviction  of  this  that 


TuhciaST' 


400  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

hath  rendered  some  writers  intemperate  in  the  use  of  it.  But 
the  excess  itself  is  an  evidence  of  its  value.  There  is  no  risk 
of  inicmperance  in  using  a  liquor  which  hath  neither  spirit 
nor  flavour.  On  the  contrary,  the  richer  the  beverage  is,  the 
danger  is  the  greater  and  therefore  it  ought  to  be  used  with 
the  greater  caution.  Quintilian  ImU}^ remarked  concerning 
the  writings  of  Seneca,  which  are  stu%cl  with  antithesis,  that 
"they  abound  in  pleasant  faults-"*  The  example  had  not 
been  dangerous  if  the  faults  had  not  been  pleasant.  But  the 
danger  here  was  ihe  greater,  as  the  sentiments  conveyed 
under  these  figures  were  excellent.  The  thought  recom- 
mended ihe  expression.  An  admiration  of  the  former  in- 
sinuated a  regard  to  the  latter,  with  which  it  was  so  closely 
connected,  and  both  very  naturally  engaged  imitation.  Hence 
Seneca  is  justly  considered  as  one  of  the  earliest  corrupters 
of  the  Roman  eloquence.  And  here  we  may  remark  by  the 
way,  that  the  language  of  any  country  is  in  no  hazard  of  being 
corrupted  by  bad  writers.  The  hazard  is  only  when  a  writer 
of  considerable  talents  hath  not  a  perfect  chastity  of  taste  in 
composition,  but,  as  was  the  case  of  Seneca,  affects  to  excess 
what  in  itself  is  agreeable.  Such  a  style,  compared  with  the 
more  manly  elocution  of  Cicero,  we  call  effeminate,  as  be- 
traying a  sort  of  feminine  fondness  for  glitter  and  ornament. 
There  is  some  danger  that  both  French  and  English  will  be 
corrupted  in  the  same  manner.  There  have  been  some  wri- 
ters of  eminence  in  both,  who  might  be  charged,  perhaps  as 
justly  as  Seneca,  with  abounding  in  pleasant  faults. 

But  enough  of  the  antithesis — I  return  to  the  consideration 
of  periods  in  general.  And  on  this  head  I  shall  only  farther 
remark,  that  when  they  consist  of  complex  members,  we 
must  ibllow  the  same  rule  in  arranging  the  clauses  of  each 
member,  in  order  to  give  all  possible  energy  to  the  sentence, 
that  we  do  in  arranging  the  members  of  the  period.  By  doing 
this,  we  shall  never  be  in  danger  of  thinking  that  the  member 
is  complete  till  it  actually  be  so,  just  as  by  the  structure  of 
the  period  we  are  prevented  from  thinking  the  sentence  fin- 
ished before  the  end.  A  disappointment  in  the  former  case 
is  of  less  moment,  but  it  is  still  of  some.  In  each  it  occa- 
sions a  degree  of  langour  which  weakens  the  expression. 

I  shall  give  an  example  of  a  period  where,  in  one  of  the 
members,  this  rule  is  not  observed.  "  Having  already  shown 
how  the  fancy  is  affected  by  the  works  of  Nature,  and  after- 
ward considered,  in  general,  both  the  works  of  Nature  and 
of  Art  II  how  they  mutually  assist  and  complete  each  oth- 
er, II  in  farming  such  scenes  and  prospects  ||  as  are  most  apt 
to  delight  the  mind  of  the  beholder,  I  shall  in  this  paper 
throw  together  some  reflections  on  that  particular  art  ||  which 

*  'jistit .  lib.  X.,  cap.  i. :  "  Abundant  dulcibus  vitiis."' 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  401 

has  a  more  immediate  tendency  tlian  any  other  ||  to  produce 
those  pleasures  of  tlie  imafrjnation  ||  wliich  have  liitlicrto 
been  the  subject  of  this  discourse."*  This  sentence  is  ;i  pe- 
riod, agreealiiy  to  the  definition  formerly  given.  Wherever 
we  stop,  the  sentence  is  imperfect  till  we  reach  the  end. 
But  the  members  are  not  all  composed  according  to  the  rule 
hiid  down.  It  consisteth  of  three  members.  Tlie  first  ends 
at  Nature,  is  a  single  clause,  and  therefore  not  aflected  by 
the  rule  ;  the  second  is  complex,  consisting  of  several  clause.s, 
and  ends  at  beholder ;  the  third  is  also  complex,  and  concludes 
the  sentence.  The  last  member  cannot  be  faulty,  else  the 
sentences  would  be  no  period.  The  fault  must  then  be  in 
the  structure  of  the  second,  which  is  evidently  loose.  That 
member,  though  not  the  sentence,  might  conclude,  and  a 
reader  naturally  supposes  that  it  doth  conclude,  first  at  the 
word  art,  afterward  at  the  word  ol/ier,  both  wliich  are  before 
its  real  conclusion.  Such  a  composition,  therefore,  even  in 
periods,  occasions,  though  in  a  less  degree,  the  same  kind 
of  disappointment  to  the  reader,  and,  consequently,  the  same 
appearance  of  feebleness  in  the  style,  which  result  from  long, 
loose,  and  complex  sentences.  A  very  little  alteration  in 
the  faulty  member  will  unite  the  clauses  more  intimately, 
and  entirely  remove  the  exception;  as  thus,  "And  afterward 
considered,  in  general,  how,  in  forming  such  scenes  and  pros- 
pects as  are  most  apt  to  delight  the  mind  of  the  beholder,  the 
works  both  of  Nature  and  of  Art  mutually  assist  and  com- 
plete each  other." 

It  may  be  thought,  and  justly  too,  that  this  care  will  some- 
times make  the  expression  appear  elaborate.  I  shall  only 
recommend  it  as  one  of  the  surest  means  of  preventing  this 
effect,  to  render  the  members  as  simple  as  possible,  and  par- 
ticularly to  avoid  synonymas  and  redundancies,  of  which 
there  are  a  few  in  the  member  now  criticised.  Such  are 
scenes  and  prospects,  assist  and  complete,  muluaUy  and  each  oth- 
er. With  the  aid  of  this  reformation,  also,  the  whole  period 
will  appear  much  better  compacted  as  follows  :  ••  Having  al- 
ready shown  how  the  fancy  is  affected  by  the  works  of  Na- 
ture ;  and  afterward  considered,  in  general,  ||  how,  in 
forming  such  scenes  as  are  most  apt  to  delight  the  mind  of 
the  beholder,  ||  the  works  both  of  Nature  and  of  Art  assist 
each  other,  ...  I  shall  in  this  paper  throw  together  some  re- 
flections on  that  particular  art  ||  which  has  a  more  immediate 
tendency  than  any  other  ||  to  produce  those  primary  pleas- 
ures of  the  imagination  ||  which  have  hitherto  been  the  sub- 
ject of  this  discourse." 

Part  III.   Observations  on  Loose  Sentences. 

In  complex  sentences  of  looser  composition,  there  is,  as 

♦  Spectator,  No.  415,  O. 
L  L  2 


402  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OP    RHETORIC. 

was  observed,  a  much  greater  risk  of  falling  into  a  languid 
nivmner.  This  may  arise  from  different  causes.  First,  even 
where  the  sentence  is  neither  long  nor  complex,  the  mem- 
bers will  sometimes  appear  disjointed.  Tiie  consequence 
always  is,  that  a  hearer  will  at  first  be  in  doubt  whether  it  he 
one  sentence  or  more.  Take  the  following  for  an  example  : 
"  However,  many  who  do  iu)t  read  themselves  |  are  seduced 
by  others  that  Jo,  and  thus  become  unbelievers  upon  trust 
and  at  second  hand;  and  this  is  too  frequent  a  case."* 
The  harmony  of  the  members,  taken  severally,  contribute  to 
the  bad  effect  of  the  whole.  The  cadence  is  so  perfect  at 
tlie  end  both  of  the  first  member  and  of  the  second,  that 
the  reader  is  not  only  disappointed,  but  surprised,  to  find  the 
sentence  still  unfinished.  The  additional  clauses  appear  out 
of  their  proper  place  like  something  that  had  been  forgotten. 
Another  cause  of  Jaugour  here  is  the  excessivcieiigtlvof  a 
sentence,  and  too  many  members.  Indeed,  wherever  the 
sentiments  of  an  author  are  not  expressed  in  periods,  the 
end  of  a  member  or  clause,  or  even  an  intermediate  word, 
as  hath  been  observed  already,  may  be  the  end  of  the  sen- 
tence. Yet  the  commonness  of  such  sentences,  when  they 
do  not  exceed  an  ordinary  length,  prevents  in  a  great  meas- 
ure a  too  early  expectation  of  llie  end.  On  the  contrary, 
when  they  transgress  all  customary  limiis,  the  reader  begins 
to  grow  impatient,  and  to  look  for  a  full  slop -or  brealhing- 
place  at  the  end  of  every  clause  and  member.  An  instance 
of  lliis  excess  you  have  in  the  succeeding  quotation  :  "  Though 
in  yesterday's  paper  we  considered  how  everything  tiiat  is 
great,  new,  or  beautiful  is  apt  to  afl^ect  the  imagination  with 
pieasiu'c,  we  must  own  that  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  assign 
the  necessary  cause  of  this  pleasure,  because  we  know  nei- 
ther the  nature  of  an  idea  nor  the  substance  of  a  human  soul 
which  might  help  us  to  discover  the  conformity  or  disagree- 
ableness  of  the  one  to  the  other;  and  therefore,  for  want  of 
such  a  light,  all  that  we  can  do  in  speculations  of  this  kind 
is  to  reflect  on  those  operations  of  the  soul  that  are  most 
agreeable,  and  to  range  under  their  propaiL.iieads  what  is 
pleasing  or  displeasing  to  the  miud.  without-being  able  to 
trace  out  the  several  necessary  and  efficient  causes  from 
whence  the  pleasure  or  displeasure  arises."!  The  reader 
will  observe,  that  in  this  passage  I  have  distinguished  by 
italics  all  those  words  in  the  body  of  the  sentence,  no 
fewer  than  seven,  at  any  of  which,  if  there  were  a  full  stop, 
the  construction  of  the  preceding  part  would  be  complete. 
The  fault  here  is  solely  in  the  length  of  the  whole,  and  in 
the  number  of  the  parts.  The  members  themselves  are  well 
connected. 

*  Swift's  Sermon  on  the  Trinity.  t  Spectator,  No.  413  O, 


THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF    RHETORIC.  403 

In  the  next  example  we  have  both  tlie  faults  ;ibovo  men- 
tioned in  one  sentence  :  "  Last  year  a  paper  was  biouj^ht 
here  from  EnglntnL  called  a  Dialogue  between  the  Arclibisli- 
op  of  C-anterbury  and  Mr.  Hiir<ri,is,  which  we  ordered  to  be 
burned  by  the  common  liani>inan,  as  it  well  deserved,  liiongh 
we  h'ave  no  more  to  do  with  his  Grace  of  Canterbury  than 
ydU  have  with  the  Archbishop  of  Dublin.,  whom  you  tamely 
suffer  to  be  abused  openhj  and  by  name,  by  that  paltry  rascal 
of  an  observalor,  and  lately  upon  an  affair  wherein  he  had  no 
concern — 1  mean  li>e  business  of  the  missionary  of  Drogheda, 
wli&rein  our  excellent  primate  was  en<;;aged,  and  did  nothing 
but  according  to  law  and  discretion."*  Hardly  will  you  find 
in  any  of  the  worst  English  writers  a  more  exceptionable 
sentence  in  point  of  composition  than  the  preceding,  which 
is  taken  from  one  of  the  best.  The  stops  which  might  be 
in  it-will  be  found,  on  an  attentive  perusal,  to  be  no  fewer 
than  fourteen  ;  the  clauses  are  exceedingly  unequal,  abrupt, 
and  ill-compacted.  Intricacy  in  the  structure  of  a  complex 
sentence  might  also  be  here  exemplified  as  a  cause  of  langour. 
But  as  this  error  never  fails  to  create  obscurity,  it  hath  been 
considered  already  under  a  former  head. 

Part  IV.   Review  of  ivfiat  has  been  deduced  above  in  regard  to 
Arrangement. 

I  liave  now  briefly  examined  how  far  arrangement  may 
contribute  to  vivacity,  both  in  simple  sentences  and  in  com- 
plex, and  from  what  principles  in  our  nature  it  is  that  the  ef- 
fect ariseth. 

In  this  discussion  I  have  had  occasion  to  consider,  in  re- 
gard to  simple  sentences,  the  diflference  between  what  may 
properly  be  called  the  rhetorical  and  natural  order,  and  that 
which  1  have  denominated  the  artificial  and  grammatical,  or 
the  customary  way  of  combining  the  words  in  any  particular 
language.  I  have  observed  as  to  the  former,  and  taken  some 
pains  to  illustrate  the  observation,  that  it  is  universal  ;  that 
it  results  from  the  frame  of  spirit  in  which  the  sentiment, 
whatever  it  be,  is  spoken  or  written  ;  that  it  is,  by  conse- 
quence, a  sort  of  natural  expression  of  that  frame,  and  tends 
to  communicate  it  to  the  hearer  or  the  reader.  I  have  ob- 
served, also,  that  this  order,  which  alone  deserves  tiie  name 
of  Natural,  is  in  every  language  more  or  less  cramped  by  the 
artificial  or  conventional  laws  of  arrangement  in  the  lan- 
guage ;  that  in  this  respect,  the  present  languages  of  Europe, 
as  they  allow  less  latitude,  are  considerably  inferior  to  (ireek 
and  Latin,  but  that  English  is  not  a  little  superior  in  this  par- 
ticular to  some  of  the  most  eminent  of  the  modern  tongues. 
[  have  shown,  also,  that  the  artificial  arrangement  is  diifer- 

♦  Svvifi's  Letter  concerning  the  Sacramental  Test 


404  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

ent  in  different  langunges,  nnd  seems  chiefly  accommodated 
to  such  simple  expiimation,  narration,  and  deduction  as 
scarcely  admits  the  exertion  either  of  liincy  or  of  passion. 

In  regard  to  complex  sentences,  both  compound  and  de- 
compound, 1  have  remarked  the  difference  between  tlie  loose 
sentence  and  the  period  ;  I  have  observed  the  advantages 
and  tlie  disadvantages  of  each  in  point  of  vivacily,  the  occa- 
sions to  which  they  are  respectively  suited,  the  rules  to  be 
observed  in  composing  them,  and  the  faults  which,  as  tend- 
ing to  enervate  the  expression  and  tire  the  reader,  ought 
carefully  to  be  avoided.  I  have  also  made  some  remarks  on 
the  different  kinds  of  antithesis,  and  the  uses  to  which  they 
may  properly  be  applied. 

Thus  much  shall  suffice  for  the  general  illustration  of  this 
article,  concerning  the  vivacity  which  results  from  arrange- 
ment. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

OF   THE    CONNECTIVES    EMPLOVED    IN    COMBINING   THE    PAP.TS    OF    A 

SENTENCE. 

I  AM  very  sensible  that  the  remarks  contained  in  the  pre- 
ceding chapter,  on  the  particular  structure  and  the  particular 
arrangement  in  sentences,  whether  simple  or  complex,  which 
are  most  conducive  to  vivacity,  however  well  these  remarks 
are  founded,  and  however  much  they  may  assist  us  in  form- 
ing a  judgment  concerning  any  performance  under  our  re- 
view, are  very  far  from  exhausting  this  copious  subject,  and 
still  farther  from  being  sufficient  to  regulate  our  practice  iu 
composing. 

For  this  reason,  1  judged  that  the  observations  on  the  na- 
ture and  the  management  of  coimexive  particles  contained  in 
this  chapter  and  the  succeeding,  might  prove  a  useful  supple- 
ment to  the  two  preceding  ones  (for  they  are  connected  with 
both),  and  serve  at  once  to  enlarge  our  conceptions  on  this 
subject,  and  to  assist  our  practice.  At  first,  indeed,  I  had 
intended  to  comprehend  both  these  chapters  in  the  HuTgoing 
But  wlien  I  reflected,  on  the  other  hand,  not  only  that  they 
would  swell  that  article  far  beyond  the  ordinary  bounds,  but 
that,  however  much  the  topics  are  related,  the  nature  of  the 
investigation  contained  in  them  is  both  different  in  itself,  and 
must  be  differently  conducted,  I  thought  it  would  have  less 
the  appearance  of  digression,  and  conduce  more  to  perspi- 
cuity, to  consider  them  severally  mider  their  proper  and  dis- 
criminating titles. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC.  405 

1  need  scarcely  observe,  that  by  connectives  I  mean  all 
those  terms  ami  phrases  which  are  not  llicmsclvcs  the  signs 
of  things,  of  operations,  or  of  attributes,  but  by  wliicb,  iievur- 
Iht-less,  the  words  in  the  same  clause,  the  clauses  in  the 
same  member,  the  members  in  the  same  sentence,  and  even 
the  sentences  in  tlie  same  discourse,  are  linked  together,  and 
the  relations  subsisting  among  them  are  suggested.  The  last 
of  these  connexions  I  reserve  for  the  subject  of  the  ensuing 
chai.  ter ;  all  the  rest  1  comprehcJid  in  this.  'I'he  proper  subject 
of  this  is  the  connectives  of  the  several  parts  in  the  sentence  ; 
the  proper  subject  of  the  next  is  the  connectives  of  the  several 
sealences  lu  the  discourse. 

SECTION  I. 

OF    CONJUXCTIO.VS. 

It  was  observed  already  concerning  the  connectives,  that 
of  all  the  parts  of  speech  they  are  the  most  unfriendly  to 
vivacity.  In  their  nature  they  are  the  least  considerable 
parts, -as  their  value  is  merely  secondary.  Vet,  in  respect 
of  the  difficulty  tlierc  is  in  culling  and  disposing  them,  they 
often  prove  to  an  author  tlic  most  considerable.  In  them- 
selves tiiey  arc  but  the  taches  which  serve  to  unite  the  con- 
stituent parts  in  a  sentence  or  a  paragraph.  Consequently, 
the  less  conspicuous  they  are,  tlie  more  perfect  will  the  union 
of  the  parts  be,  and  the  more  easily  will  the  hearer  glide,  as 
it  were,  from  one  word,  clause,  or  member  of  a  period  into 
another.  The  more  observable  they  are,  the  less  perfect 
will  the  union  be,  ami  the  more  difHcullly  will  the  hearer  pass 
on  from  member  to  member,  from  clause  to  clause,  and  from 
word  to  word.  The  cohesion  of  the  parts  in  a  cabinet  or 
other  piece  of  furniture  seems  always  the  more  complete, 
the  less  the  pegs  and  tacks  so  necessary  to  efTect  it  are  ex- 
posed to  view. 

It  is  a  secret  sense  of  the  truth  of  this  doctrine  with  regard 
to  language  which  imperceptibly,  as  the  taste  improves  in  a 
nation,  inliuences  their  writers  to  prefer  short  to  long  con- 
junctions. With  us  in  particular,  it  is  the  more  necessary  to 
attend  to  this  circumstHnce,  as  the  nouns  and  the  verbs,  which 
are  the  most  significant  words,  are  mostly  monosyllables. 
For  as  everything  is  judged  by  comparison,  polysyllabic  con- 
junctions nuist  appear  ttie  more  cumbersome  on  that  very  ac- 
count. Happily  enough,  at  present  our  conjunctions  and  rel- 
atives in  most  frequent  use  (for  the  last,  also,  are  nif-rely  a 
species  of  connectives)  are  monosyllables.*  A  few  wh^ch  do 
not  occur  so  often  are  dissyllables. f     Almost  all  the  polysyl- 

*  Such  are  the  following,  in  several  of  which  the  coiistitiienl  syll;ihle  I8 
also  short,  and.  twn,  or,  nor.  itni/,  yen,  hut,  yet.  if,  though.  I'St,  than,  as,  ere,  till, 
since,  ko,  fur,  that,  white,  wheii,  who.  V}hosf,  whom,  which,  what. 

t  'I'hes-e  are,  n/.^o,  likewise,  before,  afltr,  because,  besides  farther,  again,  uif 
less,  wlicreas,  although. 


406  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OP    RHETORIC. 

labic  conjunctions  are  now  either  disused  altogether,  oroccui 
but  rarely.* 

In  the  ancient  style  which  obtained  in  this  island,  'he  con- 
junctions were  sometimes  lengthened  and  rendered  remark- 
able by  combining  them  together.  Thus  the  particle  that, 
which  is  both  a  conjunction  and  a  relative,  was  annexed  to 
most  of  them.  Two  centuries  ago  we  should  not  liave  said, 
"  After  I  have  spoken,"  but,  ''  After  ihaL  I  have  spoken."  In 
like  manner  we  should  then  have  said,  because  that,  before  that, 
aithoiiQh  that,  lohile  that,  until  that,  except  that,  unless  that,  since 
that,  and  seeing  that.  .Sometimes  they  even  used  if  that,  for 
that,  and  when  that.  This  particle  seems  to  have  been  added 
in  order  to  distinguish  the  conjunction  from  the  preposition 
or  the  adverb,  as  the  word  to  which  it  was  annexed  was  often 
susceptible  of  both  uses,  and  sometimes  of  all  the  three. f 
But  the  event  hath  shown  thai  this  expedient  is  quite  super- 
fluous. The  situation  marks  suthciently  the  character  of  the 
particle,  so  that  you  will  rarely  find  an  ambiguity  arising  from 
this  variety  in  the  application.  The  disuse,  therefore,  of  such 
an  uimecessary  appendage  is  a  real  improvement. 

The  relatives,  as  was  hinted  before,  partake  of  the  nature 
of  conjunction,  both  as  they  are  the  instruments  of  linking 
the  members  of  sentences  together,  and  as  they  have  no  in- 
dependent signification  of  their  own.  These,  when  in  coup- 
ling the  clauses  of  a  paragraph  they  are  joined  with  a  prepo- 
sition, form  what  may  properly  be  termed  a  sort  of  complex 
conjunctions.  Such  are,  according  to  the  original  form  of 
the  words,  v-pon  ivhich,  unto  lohich,  with  that,  by  lohich,  or,  ac- 
cording to  a  method  of  combining  entirely  analogical  in  our 
language,  ivhereupon,  whereunto,  therewith,  ivhereby.  In  the 
use  of  such  drawling  conjunctions,  whether  in  the  loose  or 
in  the  compound  form,  there  is  a  considerable  risk,  as  is  ev- 
ident from  the  principles  above  explained,  of  rendering  the 
sentence  tiresome  and  the  expression  languid. 

*  These  are,  however,  moreover,  nevertheless,  notwithstanding  that,  insomuch 
that,  albeit,  furtliermore,  forasmuch  as.  Tho  last  three  may  be  counted  obso- 
lete, except  with  scriveners.     The  rest  cannot  entirely  be  dispensed  with. 

t  The  same  manner  ol  forming  the  conjunctions  is  retained  to  this  day, 
both  in  French  and  in  Italian.  They  are  in  French,  apres  que,  parce  que, 
avant  que,  birn  que,  de  peur  que,  tandhi  que,  jusqu'a  ce  que,  a  mains  que,  depuis 
que,  lors  que  ;  in  Italian,  cubilo,  che,  perchio  che,  primo  che,  ancora  chr,  per  tema 
che.  metiire  che,  sin  tanto  che,  altro  che,  da  che,  gia  sia  che.  An  effect  of  the 
improvement  of  taste,  though  not  in  the  same  degree,  may  be  observeci  in 
both  these  languages,  similar  to  that  wliich  liath  been  remarked  in  English. 
.Some  drawling  conjunctions  formerly  used  are  now  become  obsolete,  as  in 
French,  encore  bien  que,  hien  entendu  que,  cnmme  ainsi  soit  due  ;  m  Italian,  con- 
do  fosse  cosa  che,  per  laqual  cosa  che,  gia  sia  coxa  che.  Tne  necessary  aid  of 
the  particle  que  in  French  for  expressing  the  most  different  and  even  con- 
trary relations,  hath  induced  their  celebrated  critic  and  grammarian,  Abbe 
Girari!  to  style  it  the  conductive  conjunction.  The  same  appellation  mav  bo 
assigned  with  equal  propriety  to  the  c/ic  in  Italian. 


THE    PHIL030rHY    OF    RHETOKIC.  407 

Some  writers,  sensible  of  the  effect,  seem  totally  to  l-.Kve 
mistaken  the  cause.  They  have  inip\ite(J  the  flatness  to  t!ic 
combination,  imajjining  that  the  nncompounded  form  of  I'le 
preposition  and  the  pronoun  would  nowise  affect  Ih.e  vivacity 
of  the  style.  Lord  Shaftesbury  was  of  this  opinion,  and  iiis 
authority  lias  niishid  other  writers.  His  words  are  :  "Tl'.f  y 
have  of  hite,  'tis  true,  reformed  in  some  measure  the  gouty 
joints  and  darning  work  of  xulicrcunlo's,  ichcrebi/s,  Lhereofs, 
tlicrcwillis,  and  the  rest  of  this  kind,  by  which  complicated 
periods  are  so  curiously  .strung,  or  hooked  on,  one  to  anotiier, 
after  the  long-spun  manner  of  the  bar  or  pulpit.''*  Accord- 
ingly, several  authors  have  been  so  far  swayed  by  this  judg- 
ment as  to  condemn,  in  every  instance,  this  kind  of  compo- 
sition of  the  adverbs  ichcrc,  here,  and  there,  with  prepositions. 
But  if  he  would  be  satisfied  that  the  fault,  where  there  is  a 
fault,  doth  not  lie  in  the  composition,  let  us  make  tlie  exper- 
iment on  one  of  the  long-spun,  complicated  periods  of  which 
the  author  speaks,  by  resolving  the  tvhereupon  into  vpon  ivhich, 
by  saying  unlo  ivhich  for  ivhereiinfo,  and  so  of  the  rest,  and  I 
ani.  greatly  deceived  if  we  find  the  darning  work  less  coarse, 
or  the  joints  less  gouty,  than  they  were  before  this  correc- 
tion ;  and  if  in  any  case  the  combined  shall  displease  more 
than  the  primitive  form,  I  suspect  that  the  disuse  will  be 
found  the  cause,  and  not  the  consequence,  of  its  displeasing. 

Compositions  of  this  sort  with  dissyllabic  prepositions  are 
now  mostly  obsolete,  and  it  would  be  silly  to  attempt  to  re- 
vive them  ;  but  with  several  of  the  monosyllabic  prepositions 
they  are  still  used.  I  shall,  therefore,  here  offer  a  few  argu- 
ments against  dispossessing  them  of  the  ground  which  they 
still  retain.  First,  they  occasion  a  little  variety;  and  even 
this,  however  inconsiderable,  unless  some  inconvenience 
could  be  pleaded  on  the  opposite  side,  ought,  in  conjunctions 
especially,  for  a  reason  to  be  given  afterward,  to  determine 
the  matter.  Secondly,  they  sometimes,  without  lengtliening 
the  sentence,  interrupt  a  run  of  monosyllables  (a  thing  ex- 
tremely disagreeable  to  some  critics),  very  opportunely  sub- 
stituting a  dissyllable  instead  of  two  of  the  former.  'I'hird- 
ly,  they  in  certain  cases  even  prevent  a  little  obscurity,  or 
at  least  inelegance.  It  was  observed  on  a  former  occasion, 
that  when  any  relative  occurs  oftener  than  once  in  a  sen- 
tence, it  will  seldom  be  compatible  with  the  laws  of  perspi- 
cuity that  it  should  refer  to  different  antecedents.  And  even 
if  such  change  of  the  reference  should  not  darken  the  sense, 
it  rarely  fails  to  injure  the  beauty  of  the  expression.     Yet 

*  Misc.,  v.,  chap.  i.  For  the  same  reason  we  should  condemn  the  qua- 
propter,  quamobrem,  ijiuiiidoqiiidem,  quemndmndum  of  the  Lai  in,  whoso  com- 
position and  use  are  pretty  similar.  To  these  a  good  writer  will  not  fre- 
quently recur ;  but  their  best  authors  have  not  thought  fit  to  reject  them 
altogether. 


408  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

this  fault,  in  long  periods  and  other  complex  sentences,  is 
often  scarcely  avoidable.  Sometimes  the  only  way  of  avoid- 
ing it  is  by  changing  an  of  which,  in  u-hich,  or  dt/  ivhich,  into 
ivlic.renf,  ivliercin,  or  whereby.  This  will  botli  prevent  tlie  too 
frequent  recurrence  of  the  syllable  which,  none  of  the  most 
grateful  in  the  language,  and  elude  the  apparent  inaccuracy 
of  using  tlie  same  sound  in  reference  to  different  things. 
Fourthly,  more  is  sometimes  expressed  by  the  compound 
than  by  the  primitive  form,  and,  consequently,  there  are  oc- 
casions on  which  it  ought  to  be  preferred.  The  pronoun 
this,  thai,  and  which  do  not  so  naturally  i-efer  to  a  clause  or  a 
sentence  as  to  a  word,  nor  do  the  first  two  refer  so  naturally 
to  a  phwal  as  to  a  singular,  whereas  the  compounds  of  here, 
there,  and  ichcre  do,  with  equal  propriety,  refer  to  all  these. 
Few  will  pretend  that  the  place  o{  therefore  would  be  proper- 
ly supplied  by  fir  that,  or  that  with  ivhat  would  be  in  every 
case  an  equivalent  for  ivherewith,  or  after  this,  for  hereafter; 
but  even  in  o'.her  instances  not  quite  so  clear,  we  shall,  on 
examination,  nnd  a  difference.  In  such  a  sentence  as  this, 
for  example,  "I  flattered  her  vanity,  lied  to  her,  and  abused 
her  compan'ons,  and  therebi/  wrought  myself  gradually  into 
her  favour^''  it  is  evident  that  the  words  hi/  that  would  here 
be  intolerable ;  and  if  you  should  say  by  these  actions,  or  by 
so  doing,  the  expression  would  be  remarkably  heavier  and 
more  awkward. 

The  genuine  source  of  most  of  these  modern  refinements 
is,  in  my  opinion,  an  excessive  bias  to  everything  that  bears 
a  resemblance  to  what  is  found  in  France,  and  even  a  preju- 
dice against  everything  to  which  there  is  nothing  in  France 
corresponding, 

"  Whose  manners  stiii  our  tardy  aspish  nation 
Limps  after,  in  base  awkward  imitation."* 

Hence  it  proceeds,  that  we  not  only  adopt  their  words  and 
idioms,  but  even  imitate  their  defects,  and  act  as  if  we  thought 
it  presumption  to  have  any  words  or  phrases  of  our  own,  to 
vvliich  they  have  nothing  correspondent.  I  own  that  this 
may  happen  insensibly,  without  design  or  affectation  on  the 
part  of  our  writers,  and  that  either  from  the  close  intercourse 
wliich  we  have  with  that  nation,  or  from  the  great  use  that 
we  make  of  their  writings,  and  the  practice  now  so  frequent 
of  translating  them.  But  that  I  may  not  be  thought  unrea- 
sonable in  imputing  to  this  cause  what  is  not  justly  chargea- 
ble on  it,  1  shall  specify  in  the  margin  a  few  instances  where- 
in liie  penury  of  the  French  language  hath,  in  the  way  of 
which  I  am  speaking,  been  hurtful  to  the  English. f 

*  .'^hakspeare.  Richard  11. 

+  The  local  adverbs  are  very  properly  classed  with  us,  as  in  Latin,  into 
three  orders,  lor  denoting  rest  or  motion  m  a  place,  motion  to  it,  and  motion 
from  it.     \x\  every  one  of  these  orders  there  are  three  adverbs  to  denote  this 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  400 

I  shall  only  subjoin  licre  to  tlieso  observations,  that  if  the 
ivhereunto\i  and  ihcrcwilhaCs  may  be  dtjuominatcd  ilie  ;^oniy 

place,  thai  place,  and  what  or  which  place,  inlenogativeiy  or  relaiively.  In 
French  there  are  only  two  orders,  Uie  lirsl  and  second  being  conlounlod. 
See  the  scheme  subjoined. 

1  2  3  1 &2  3 

^  I  Here  Hither  Hence.  ^  (  Ici  D"ici. 

|,  <  There  Tliither  Thence.  M  ^n  De  Ml. 

u.  ( Where         Whither        Whence.  £  ( Ou  D'oii. 

Since  the  RestoratioTi,  which  I  take  to  be  neither  the  only  nor  th<!  earliest, 
tmt  liie  most  successful  era,  in  regard  to  the  inlriKiiiciion  ot  Krench  hooks, 
I''rench  sentitnents,  and  French  modes  into  tills  island,  ilie  adv(>il)s  o(  ihe 
lirst  order  have  almost  always  been  employed  in  coiivoisaiion,  and  Ireqnent 
iy  in  print,  tor  those  of  the  second,  'i'hns  we  say,  "  Whtrf  are  yon  going  '.'' 
and  someiime.^,  '•  Come  /itc,"  though  the  only  proper  adverbs  in  such  iiaaes 
be  whithir  and  hither.  Another  instance  the  above  scheme  tiirnislies  olthe 
absurd  tendency  we  have  to  imitate  the  French,  even  in  their  hnperlections. 
'I'he  local  adverbs  of  the  third  order  are  with  themdisiingiiished  (roin  tiiose 
of  the  first  and  second  only  by  preti.xing  the  preposition  <te.  wlijuli  sigmlies 
frmii.  'I'his  is  manifestly  the  origin  of  those  pleonastic  phrases  in  Knglish, 
from  hence,  from  thence,  and  /roni  whence.  1  shall  produce  another  evidence 
of  the  bad  effect  of  this  propensity.  So  many  of  Nature's  works  are  known 
to  us  by  pairs,  ihe  sexes,  lor  e.xample.  and  the  most  of  the  organs  and  ihe 
members  of  the  human  body,  and,  indeed,  of  every  animal  body,  that  it  is 
natural,  even  in  the  simplest  state  oi  society,  and  in  the  rise  of  languages, 
to  distinguish  the  dual  number  from  the  plural  ;  and  though  few  languages 
have  made,  or,  at  least,  retained  this  distinction  in  the  declension  ol  tiouns, 
yet  most  have  observed  it  in  the  numeral  adjectives.  'I'he  Knglish,  in  |iar- 
licular,  have  observed  it  with  great  accuracy,  as  appears  from  the  annexed 
scheme. 
When  the  discourse  is  of  -    -    -       two :  when  it  is  of  -  several : 

Collectively Both.  All. 

Distributively Each.  Every. 

Indiscriminately Either.  Any. 

Exclusively     -    . Neither.  None. 

Relatively  and  Interrogatively    -    -  Whether.        Which. 

This  distinction  in  French  hath  been  overlooked  altogether,  and  in  English 
is  beginning,  at  least  in  some  instances,  to  be  confounded.  I'erhaps  the 
word  eiertj  will  not  be  found  in  any  good  writer  applied  to  two ;  but  it  is 
certain  that  the  word  each  hath  usurped  the  place  oi  every,  and  is  now  \\>,p(l 
promiscuously  by  writers  of  all  denominations,  whether  it  be  two  or  mor 
that  are  spoken  of.  The  pronominal  adjective  whether  is  now  quite  obso 
lete,  its  place  being  supplied  by  which.  About  a  century  and  a  half  ago 
whether  was  invariably  used  of  two,  as  appears  from  all  the  writings  of  thai 
period,  and  particularly  from  the  translation  of  the  Bible  ;  thus.  Matt.,  xvi. 
31,"  Whether  of  them  twain  did  the  will  of  his  father?"  and  xxiii.,  17, 
"  Whether  is  greater,  the  gold  or  the  temple  ?"  The  rest  of  this  class  hf  vo 
hitherto  retained  their  places  among  us.  How  long  they  may  continue  to 
do  so,  it  will  be  impossible  to  say.  Indeed,  the  clumsy  manner  in  which 
these  places  are  supjilied  in  French  doth  perhaps  account  for  our  constancy, 
as  it  will  prove,  I  hope.^r  security  against  a  sudden  change  in  this  partic- 
ular. It  would  sound  exwemely  awkward  in  our  ears, «//  the  two.  or  the  one 
or  the  other,  and  nnr  the  one  nor  the  other,  which  is  a  literal  version  of  tonx  In 
denx,  on  I'lin  ou  i'aatrc.  and  vi  fun.  n.i  Cautre,  the  phrases  whercl>v  both.eithcr, 
and  neither  are  expressed  in  French,  it  may  be  sni.l,  ctisioin  softens  every 
thing,  and  what  though  several  words  thus  fail  into  disuse,  since  experi- 
ence shows  us  thatvve  can  do  without  them  ?  I  answer,  lirsl,  change  itsc-il 
M  M 


410  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF    nHETORIC. 

joints  o{  style,  the  r/c.'s.  and  the  i.  e.'s,  and  the  e.  ^.'.y,  fori'/. 
dchcct,  id  csl,  and  exempli  gratia,  may  not.  unfitly  'je  termed 
its  crutches.  Like  tliese  wretched  props,  they  are  not  only 
of  foreign  materials,  bnt  have  a  foreign  aspect.  For  as  a 
stick  can  never  be  mistaken  for  a  limb,  though  it  may,  in  a 
clumsy  manner,  do  the  office  of  one.  so  these  pitiful  supple- 
ments can  never  be  made  to  incorporate  with  the  sentence, 
which  they  help  in  a  bungling  maimer  to  hobble  forward. 

I  proceed  to  exemplify  farther,  in  our  own  language,  the 
general  observation  made  above,  that  an  improvement  of 
taste  leads  men  insensibly  to  abbreviate  those  weaker  parts 
of  speech,  the  connexive  particles.  I  have  remarked  already 
the  total  suppression  of  the  conjunction  llial  after  because,  he- 
fore,  allhnu<rh,-Aw\  many  others  of  the  same  stamp,  with  which 
it  was  wont  to  be  inseparably  combined.  But  we  have  not 
stopped  here.  This  panicle  is  frequently  omitted,  when 
there  is  no  other  conjunction  to  connect  the  clauses,  as  in 
tills  example,  "  Did  I  not  tell  you  positively  I  would  go  my- 
self!" In  order  to  construe  the  sentence,  we  must  supply 
the  word  ihil  after  ■positively.  Concerning  this  omission  1 
shall  jusi  observe,  what  1  would  be  understood,  in  like  man- 
ner, to  observe  concerning  the  omission  of  the  relatives,  to 
be  mentioned  afterward,  that,  though  in  conversation,  come- 
dy, and  dialogue,  such  an  ellipsis  is  graceful,  when,  without 
hurling  perspicuity,  it  contributes  to  vivacity,  yet,  wherever 
the  nature  of  the  composition  requires  dignity  and  precision 
in  the  style,  this  freedom  is  hardly  to  be  risked. 

Another  remarkable  instance  of  our  dislike  to  conjunctions 
is  a  method,  for  aught  I  know,  peculiar  to  us,  by  which  the 
particles  though  and  if,  when  in  construction  with  any  of  the 
tenses,  compounded  with  had,  coidd,ioould,  or  should,  are  hap- 
pily enough  set  aside  as  unnecessary.  This  is  effected  b.  a 
small  alteration  in  the  arrangeinent.  The  nominative  is 
sli  fted  from  its  ordinary  station  before  the  auxiliary,  and  is 
placed  immediately  after  it,  as  in  these  words,  "  Had  I  known 
the  danger,  I  would  not  have  engaged  in  the  business;"  that 
k%  *'i/'l  had  known  the  danger" — "  Should  you  remonstrate 
ever  so  loudly,  I  would  not  alter  my  resolution  ;"  that  is, 
"  Though  you  should  remonstrate."  The  reason  that  this 
tranposition  cannot  be  admitted  in  the  other  tenses  is,  that  in 

is  bad,  unless  evidently  for  the  better;  seconrlly,  perspicnity  is  more  effect- 
ually secured  by  a  greater  chnjre  of  words,  when  the  meanings  are  distinct ; 
thirdly,  vivatnty  is  promoted  boiii  t)y  avoiding  perifiiirasis,  and  by  using 
v.•(^rlls  as  much  as  pos*il)le  limited  in  signiticalion  to  liie  thmcs  meant  by 
the  speaker;  fourthly,  in  an  abundance  vvithoni  cotiRision,  tliere  is  aiwayis 
greater  scope  for  variety.  And  to  come  to  the  jiailicular  defect  iviiicli  gave 
rise  lo  these  observations,  everybody  must  be  sensibl«  that  the  frequent  re- 
currence in  French  lo  these  uncouth  sounds,  quoi  que  qui  qiiflque,  and  the 
like,  doih  not  serve  to  recommend  the  language  to  the  ear  of  a  stranger. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETOUIC.  411 

tliem  it  would  occasion  an  ambiguity,  and  give  the  sentence 
the  appearance  of  an  iiiterrogaiion,  which  it  scarcely  ever 
hath  in  the  lenses  above  mentioned.  Somelinii's,  indeed, 
the  preleiinipeirect  admits  this  idiom,  without  rendering  the 
expression  ambiguous,  as  in  these  words,  "  Did  I  but  know 
his  intention,"  I'or  "  Jf\  did  but  know  his  intention"' — "  Were 
1  present,"  for  "'Ifl  were  present."  The  tense,  h.iwever,  in 
such  instances,  may  more  properly  be  termed  an  aorisl  than 
a  preterit  of  any  kind,  and  the  mood  is  subjunctive. 

SECTION  II. 

OF    OTHER   CONNECTIVES. 

Now  that  I  am  speaking  of  the  auxiliaries,  it  may  not  oe 
amiss  to  remark,  that  they  too,  like  the  conjunctions,  the  rel- 
atives, and  the  prepositions,  are  but  words  of  a  secondary 
order.  The  signification  of  the  verb  is  ascertain«'d  by  the 
infinitive  or  the  participle  which  follows  the  auxiliary  in  the 
compound  tenses  of  the  active  voice,  and  always  by  the  par- 
ticiple in  the  passive.  The  auxiliaries  themselves  serve  only 
to  modify  the  verb,  by  adding  the  circumstances  of  time,  af- 
firmation, supposition,  interrogation,  and  some  others.  An 
abridgment  in  these,  therefore,  which  arc  but  weak,  though 
not  the  weakest  parts  of  discourse,  conduceth  to  stiengthen 
the  expression.  But  there  are  not  many  cases  wherein  this 
is  practicable.  Sometimes  had  supplies  emphatically  the 
place  of  tuould  have,  and  ivere  of  would  be.  An  instance  of  the 
first  we  have  in  the  words  of  Martha  to  our  Saviour  ;  "  Lord, 
if  thou  hadst  been  here,  my  brother  had  woi  died.'"*  The  last 
clause  would  have  been  feebler  had  it  been  "  my  brother  would 
not  have  died."  An  example  of  the  second  is  the  words  of 
the  Israelites  on  hearing  the  report  of  the  spies :  "  Were  it 
not  better  for  us  to  return  into  Egypt  T'f  for  "  Would  it  not 
he  better  !" 

But  to  come  to  the  consideration  of  the  relatives  :  the  first 
real  improvement  which«taste  hatii  produced  here,  is  the  dis- 
mission of  the  article  from  its  wonted  attendance  on  I  he  pro- 
noun ivhich.  The  definite  article  could  nowhere  be  less  ne- 
cessary, as  the  antecedent  always  defines  tiie  meaning.  An- 
other effect  of  the  same  cause  is  the  introduction  of  i<  hat  in- 
stead of  that  which,  as,  "  I  remember  wAa/f  you  told  me  ;"  oth- 
erwise, "  that  which  you  told  me."  Another  is  the  extending 
of  the  use  of  the  word  ivhose,  by  making  it  serve  as  the  pos- 
sessive of  the  pronoun  lohich. 

The  distinction  between  ivho  and  u<hich  is  now  perfectly  es- 
tablished in  the  l;mg!i,ige.  The  former  relates  only  to  per- 
sons, the  latter  to  things.     But  this  distinction,  though  a  real 

'  John,  xi.,  21.  t  Num..  xiv.,  3. 


412  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC 

advantage  in  point  of  perspicuity  and  precision,  affects  not 
much  the  vivacity  of  the  style,  'i'he  possessive  of  who  is 
properly  whose;  the  pronoun  ivhich,  originally  indeclinable, 
hath  no  possessive.  This  want  was  supplied  in  the  common 
periphrastic  manner,  by  the  help  of  the  preposition  and  the 
article.  But  as  this  could  not  fail  to  enfeeble  the  expression, 
when  so  much  time  was  given  to  mere  conjunctives,  all  our 
best  authors,  both  in  prose  and  in  verse,  have  come  now  reg- 
ularly to  adopt,  in  such  cases,  the  possessive  ofiv/io,  and  thus 
have  substituted  one  syllable  in  the  room  of  three,  as  in  the 
example  following:  "  Philosophy,  ivhose  end  is  to  instruct  us 
in  the  knowledge  of  Nature,"  for,  "  Philosophy,  l/ie  end  of 
which  is  to  instruct  us."  Some  grammarians  remonstrate. 
But  it  ought  to  be  remembered,  that  use  well  established  must 
give  law  to  grammar,  and  not  grammar  to  use.  Nor  is  this 
acceptation  of  the  word  ivhose  of  recent  introduction  into  the 
language.  It  occurs  even  in  Shakspeare,  and  almost  uniform- 
ly in  authors  of  any  character  since  his  time.  Neither  does 
there  appear  to  be  any  inconvenience  arising  from  this  usage. 
The  connexion  with  the  antecedent  is  commonly  so  close  as 
to  remove  all  possible  ambiguity.  If,  however,  in  any  in- 
stance, the  application  should  appear  ambiguous,  in  that  in- 
stance, without  question,  the  periphrasis  ought  to  be  prefer- 
red. But  the  term  thus  applied  to  things  could  not  be  con- . 
sidered  as  improper  any  longer  than  it  was  by  general  use 
peculiarly  appropriated  to  persons,  and,  therefore,  considered 
merely  as  an  inflection  of  the  pronoun  who.  Now  that  can- 
not be  affirmed  to  be  the  case  at  present. 

Though  to  limit  the  signification  of  the  pronouns  would  at 
first  seem  conducive  to  precision,  it  may  sometimes  be  fol- 
lowed with  the  conveniences  which  would  more  than  coun- 
terbalance the  advantage.  "  That,'"  says  Dr.  Lowth,  "  is  used 
indifrerently  both  of  persons  Tmd  things,  but  perhaps  would 
be  more  properl}"  confined  to  the  latter."*  Yet  there  are  ca- 
ses v.'hcrein  we  cannot  conveniently  dispense  with  this  rel- 
ative as  applied  to  persons  ;  as,  first,  after  who  the  interroga- 
tive, "  Who  ihat  has  any  sense  of  religion  would  have  argued 
thnsi"  Secondly,  when  persons  make  but  a  part  of  the  an- 
tecedent:  "The  men  and  things  that  he  hath  studied  have 
not  contributed  to  the  improvement  of  his  morals."  In  nei- 
ther of  these  examples  could  any  other  relative  be  used.  In 
the  instances  specified  by  Dr.  Priestley,!  the  thai,  if  not  ne- 
cessary, is  at  least  more  elegant  than  the  who.  The  first  is 
after  a  superlative,  as,  "  He  was  the  fittest  person  that  could 
;hen  be  found;"  the  second  is  after  the  pronominal  adjective 
"he  safne,  as,  "  He  is  the  same  man  that  you  saw  before.'' 
And  it  is  even  probable  that  these  are  not  the  only  cases. 

*  Introduction,  Sentences.  t  Grammar,  Pronouns 


THE    rillLOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  413 

The  possessive  its,  of  the  neuter  personal  pronoun  if,  liath 
contributed  in  the  same  way,  though  not  a  rehuive,  both  to 
abbreviate  and  to  invigorate  the  idiom  of  the  present  age.  It 
is  not  above  a  century  and  a  half  since  this  possessive  was 
brought  into  use.  Accordingly,  you  will  not  find  it  in  all  the 
vulgar  translation  of  the  Bible.  Its  place  there  is  always 
supplied  either  by  the  article  and  the  preposition,  as  in  these 
words  :  "  They  are  of  those  that  rebel  against  tlie  light :  they 
know  not  the  ways  thereof,  nor  abide  in  the  paths  thereof,'"* 
for  "  they  know  not  tV*  ways,  nor  abide  in  its  paths  ;"  or  by 
the  possessive  of  the  masculine,  as  in  tliis  verse  :  "  The  altar 
of  burnt-ofterings  with  all  his  furniture,  and  tlie  laver  and  his 
foot."t  The  first  method  is  formal  and  languid  ;  the  second 
must  appear  awkward  to  English  ears,  because  very  unsuita- 
ble to  the  genius  of  the  language,  which  never,  unless  in  the 
figurative  style,  as  is  well  observed  by  Mr.  Harris,J  ascribes 
gender  to  such  things  as  are  neither  reasonable  beings  nor 
susceptible  of  sex. 

The  only  other  instance  of  abbreviation  which  I  recollect 
in  the  pronouns  is  the  frequent  suppression  of  the  relatives 
ivho,  whom,  and  which.  This,  I  imagine,  is  an  ellipsis  peculiar 
to  the  English,  though  it  may  be  exemplified  from  authors 
of  the  first  note ;  and  that,  too,  in  all  the  cases  following : 
first,  when  the  pronoun  is  the  nominative  to  the  verb;  sec- 
ondly, when  it  is  the  accusative  of  an  active  verb;  and, 
thirdly,  when  it  is  governed  by  a  preposition.  Of  the  first 
case,  which  is  rather  the  most  unfavourable  of  the  three,  you 
have  an  example  in  these  words,  "  I  had  several  men  died  in 
my  ship  of  calentures,"^  for  "u'/jo  died."  Of  the  second, 
which  is  the  most  tolerable,  in  these,  "  They  who  affect  to 
guess  at  the  objects  they  cannot  see,"||  for  "  which  they  cannot 
see."  Of  the  third,  in  these,  "  To  contain  the  spirit  of  anger 
is  the  worthiest  discipline  we  can  put  ourselves  to,"*|[  for 
"  to  which  we  can  put  ourselves."  Sometimes,  especially  in 
verse,  both  the  preposition  and  the  pronoun  are  omitted,  as 
in  the  speech  of  Cardinal  Wolse}%  after  his  disgrace : 
'•'Had  I  but  served  my  God  with  half  the  zeal 
I  served  my  king."** 

To  complete  the  construction  of  this  member  of  the  sentence, 
the  words  ivith  which  must  be  supplied  immediately  after 
"  zeal."  Concerning  this  idiom  I  shall  only  observe  in  gen 
eral,  that  as  it  is  the  most  licentious,  and,  therefore,  the  most 
exceptionable  in  the  language,  it  ought  to  be  used  very  cau- 
tiously. In  some  cases  it  may  occasion  obscurity  ;  in  others, 
by  giviQg  a  maimed  appearance  to  the  sentence,  it  may  oc- 

*  Job,  x.viv.,  13.  t  Exod.,  xxxi.,  9.  t  Hermes. 

()  Gul.  Trav.,  Honyhnhmns.  II  Bol.  Phil,  Es.  ii.,  i. 

f  Spectator.  .No.  438,  T.  **  Shakspeare's  Henry  VIIF 

M  M  2 


414  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

casion  inelegmce.     Tii  both  these  it  ought  carefully  to  be 
avoided.* 

The  only  otlier  part  of  speech  which  partakes  of  the  weak- 
ness remarked  in  conjunctions,  relatives,  and  auxiliary  verbs, 
is  prepositions.  These  are  expressive  of  the  relations  which 
the  substantives,  as  the  signs  of  things,  bear  to  one  ai.otber, 
or  to  the  verb?,  the  symbols  of  agency  with  which  they  are 
construed.  Tl  ey  answer  the  same  purpose  in  connecting 
words,  which  t!ie  conjunctions  answer  in  connecting  clauses. 
For  the  same  r>iason,  the  shorter  these  particles  are,  the  bet- 
ter. The  less  ime  you  bestow  on  the  insignificant  parts  of 
a  sentence,  the  more  significant  will  the  whole  appear.  Ac- 
cordingly, in  all  languages  the  prepositions  are  commonly 
among  their  shortest  words.  "With  us,  such  of  them  as  are 
in  most  frequent  use  consist  of  one  short  syllable  only,t  and 
even  those  whit  h  occur  seldomer  rarely  exceed  two  sylla- 
bles.J 

*  In  French,  by  an  idiom  not  unlike,  the  antecedent  is  often  dropped, 
and  the  relative  retai'ied,  as  in  this  example :  "  11  ne  faut  pas  se  tier  a  qiii  a 
beaucoupd'amhition. '  "  Afiui"for"ace/«i  qui."  The  idiom  is  not  the  same 
in  Italian ;  for  Ihougl  the  antecedent  is  sometimes  dropped,  there  is  proper- 
ly no  ellipsis,  as  the  relative  is  changed ;  as  thus, ''  Lo  stampaiore  a  chi 
iegge,"  for  "  a  qitd  ch< ."  This  is  exactly  similar  to  the  English  whai  or  that 
which.  By  poetic  lice  ise  there  is  sometimes  an  ellipsis  oi  the  antecedent  in 
English  verse,  as  in  t  lis  line  of  Dryden,  Georg.  2: 

"  Which  who  would  learn  as  soon  may  tell  the  sands." 
Who  for  he  who.    M»  re  rarely  when  the  antecedent  is  the  regimen  of  a 
verb,  as, 

"  I  glad  ly  shunn'd,  who  gladly  fled  from  me." 

Rom.  and  Juliet. 

t  Such  as  at,  iji,  of,  from,  till,  to,  fur,  by,  through,  near,  with,  on,  off. 

X  Such  are  above,  be!  li),  along,  acroxs,  amid,  around,  bei/ond,  within,  without, 
beside,  among,  between,  <  vcept.  It  may  not  be  amiss  to  observe,  thai  though 
the  French  in  the  comnionest  prepositions  have  the  advantage  of  us  by  rea 
son  of  their  frequent  eli>ions,  the  coalition  of  some  of  them  with  the  article, 
and  their  pronominal  pa  tides  y  and  en,  ihey  have,  nevertheless,  greatly  the 
disadvantage  in  the  less  common,  which  with  them  are  not  so  properly  de- 
nominated prepositions  .-is  prepositive  phrases  that  supply  the  place  of  prep- 
ositions. In  evidence  oi  this,  take  the  French  translation  of  all  the  dissyl- 
labic prepositions  above  mentioned,  except  the  last  four.  These  are  au 
dessux  de,  aw  dexsous  de,  ,e  long  de,  au  t ravers  de,  au  milieu  de,  auloiir  de.  ait 
dela  dt,  au  dedans  de,  au'tehorsde.  On  comparing  the  two  languages  merely 
in  point  of  vivacity,  the  French,  I  think,  excels  in  the  colloquial  and  epis- 
tolary style,  where  the  r.icurrence  must  be  frequent  to  those  petty  auls  of 
discourse,  the  prepositiois  first  mentioned,  and  where  there  is  little  scope 
for  composition,  as  there  -.ire  almost  no  complex  sentences.  The  English, 
or.  the  contrary,  excels  ii'.  the  more  elaborate  style  of  history,  iihilusophy, 
ind  oratory,  where  a  gre.iter  variety  of  prepositions  is  needed,  and  wliere 
there  is  more  frequent  ot  casion  of  recurring  to  the  conjunctions.  The.se, 
indeed,  are  rather  unwiel<  y  in  French  ;  au'l  I  am  not  sure  but  a  tacit  cori- 
riction  of  this  is  the  cause  that  a  sort  of  detached  aphoristic  style  is  getting 
much  into  vogue  with  their  authors.  1  shall  remark  here.  also,  that  their 
irivaciiy  of  expression  is  olien  attained  at  the  expense  of  [)erspicuity.  '•  La 
jersonne  qui  I'aime"  may  mean  either  "  The  person  who  loves  him,"  "  The 


THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF    RHETORIC.  415 

On  this  part  of  speech  ihe  improvements  have  not  been  so 
consiclernble  (nor  wjis  lliere  equal  need)  as  on  (lie  conjunc- 
tions and  llie  relatives.  Yet  even  iiere  llie  progress  ol"  ta.sie 
hatli  not  been  entirely  wiihout  efTecf.  Thejoiii/  and  //;//«  are 
now  almost  always,  and  the  upon  very  often,  contracted  into 
(ill  and  to,  and  on.  The  to  and  the  for  are  in  some  cases, 
without  occasioning  any  inconvenience,  and  with  a  sensible 
advantage  in  point  of  energy,  discarded  altogether.  Tims 
we  say.  "  Forgive  us  our  debts,"  and  not  "  forgive  to  n.i  our 
debts"— "I  have  gotten  3/i)M  a  license."  and  not  ••  1  have  got  i  en 
a  license /yr  y«H."  The  same  manner  hath  also  oi)tained  in 
some  other  modern  tongues.  What  I  am  next  to  mi^ntion  is 
peculiar  to  us  :  the  preposition o/" is  frequently  supplied  by  the 
possessive  case  of  the  noun.  Lastly,  whicii  is  a  real  acqui- 
sition in  respect  of  vivacity,  when  two  or  more  nouns  are 
conjoined  in  the  same  construction, 'it  is  not  necessary  in 
English,  as  in  French,  that  the  preposition  of  the  first  hi'  re- 
peated before  each  of  the  subsequent  nouns.  This  ought  to 
be  done  only  in  those  cases  wherein  either  perspicuity  or 
harmony  requires  it. 

Now  that  1  am  on  the  subject  of  the  prepositions,  it  will 
not  be  improper  to  consider  a  peculiarity  which  is  often  to 
be  found  with  lis  in  their  arrangement.  In  every  other  lan- 
guage the  preposition  is  almost  constantly  prefixed  to  Ihe 
noun  which  it  governs  ;  in  English  it  is  sometimes  placed  not 
only  after  the  noun,  but  at  a  considerable  distance  from  it, 
as  in  the  following  example:  "The  infirmary  was  indeecl 
never  so  full  as  on  this  day,  ivhich  I  was  at  some  loss  to  ac- 
count/^>r,  till,  upon  my  going  abroad,  1  observed  that  it  was 
an  easterly  wind."*  Here  no  fewer  than  seven  words  inter- 
vene between  the  relative  tvhich  and  the  preposition  /(//■  be- 
longing to  it.  Besides,  the  preposition  doth  not  here  precede 
its  regimen,  but  follows  it.  One  would  imagine,  to  consider 
the  matter  abstractly,  that  this  could  not  fail  in  a  language 
like  ours,  which  admits  so  few  inflections,  to  create  obscurity. 
Yet  this,  in  fact,  is  seldom  or  never  the  consequence.  In- 
deed, the  singularity  of  the  idiom  hath  made  some  critics 
condemn  it  absolutely.  That  there  is  nothing  analogous  in 
any  known  tongue,  ancient  or  modern,  hath  appeared  to  tlnni 
a  sufficient  reason.     I  own  it  never  appeared  so  to  me. 

If  we  examine  the  matter  independently  of  custom,  we 

person  who  loves  her."  or  "  The  person  who  ioves  ii."  Nay,  more,  ihoiigli 
there  is  adiflereiice  iii  wiitino:  l)elween  t/di  I'aime  ami  )ju'il  aimf,  Uierr;  is  no 
ditlierence  in  sound,  and  therefore  the  same  phrase  spoken  may  also  iikmii 
"The  person  whom  lie  loves."  In  Itahan  there  are  sevcrid  periplirastic 
prepositions  in  the  same  taste  with  liie  F'rench,  as  a  rint':rno  di  di  l<i  <li,  ,'i 
mezzo  di,  dentri)  di.fuori  d.i.  di  snpra  di,  di  fntio  di.  There  are  only  two  |irep- 
ositions  in  French  whicii  we  aie  ohhgeil  to  express  by  circiitnlocutinn. 
These  are  cliez,  al  liie  house  of,  and  se!un,  accordiiii;  10. 
»  Spectator.  No.  410,  C. 


416  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    UHETORIC. 

shall  find  that  the  preposition  is  just  as  closely  connectea 
wiili  the  word,  whether  verb  or  noun,  governing,  as  with  the 
word,  whether  noun  or  pronoun,  governed.  It  is  always  ex-, 
pressive  of  the  rejation  which  the  one  bears  to  the  other,  or 
of  the  action  of  the  one  upon  the  other.  And  as  the  cause 
in  the  order  of  Nature  precedes  the  effect,  the  most  proper 
situation  for  the  preposition  is  immediately  after  the  word 
governing,  and  before  the  word  governed.  This  will  accord- 
ingly, in  all  languages,  be  found  the  most  common  situation. 
But,  there  are  cases  in  all  languages  wherein  it  is  even  ne- 
cessary that  the  word  governing  should  come  after  the  word 
governed.  In  such  cases  it  is  impossible  that  the  preposition 
should  be  situated  as  above  described.  Oidy  half  of  the  de- 
scription is  then  attainable,  and  the  speaker  is  n^duced  to  this 
alternative,  either  to  make  the  preposition  follow  tlie  word 
governing,  in  which  ca§e  it  nnisl  be  detached  from  the  word 
governed,  or  to  make  it  precede  the  word  governed,  in  which 
case  it  ntiist  be  detached  from  the  word  governing.  The 
choice,  in  itself  arbitrary,  custom  hath  determined  in  every 
tongue. 

But.  will  it  be  admitted  as  a  inaxim  that  the  custom  of  one 
language,  or  even  of  ever  so  man}',  may  be  urged  as  a  rule 
in  another  language,  wherein  no  such  custom  hath  ever  ob- 
tained "i  An  argument  founded  on  so  false  a  principle  must 
certainly  be  inconclusive.  With  us,  indeed,  either  arranjie- 
nient  is  good  ;  but  I  suspect  that  to  make  the  preposition  fol- 
low the  word  governing  is  more  suitable  than  the  other  to 
the  original  idiom  of  the  tongue,  as  in  fact  it  prevails  more 
in  conversation.  The  most  common  case  wherein  there  is 
scope  for  election  is  with  the  relatives  lohom  and  which,  since 
these,  as  in  the  example  quoted,  must  necessarily  precede 
the  governing  verb  or  noun.  But  this  is  not  the  only  case. 
Vivacity  requires  sometimes,  as  hath  been  shown  above,  that 
even  the  governed  part,  if  it  be  that  which  chiefly  fixes  the 
attention  of  the  speaker,  should  stand  foremost  in  the  sen- 
tence. Let  the  following  serve  as  an  example:  "  The  man 
whom  you  were  so  anxious  to  discover,  I  have  at  length  got 
information  of.'"  We  have  here,  indeed,  a  considerable  hy- 
perbaton,  as  grammarians  term  it.  there  being  no  less  than 
thirteen  words  interposed  between  the  noun  and  the  prepo- 
sition. Yet  whether  the  expression  can  be  altered  for  the 
belter,  will  perhaps  be  questioned.  Shall  we  say,  "'  Of  the 
man  whom  you  were  so  anxious  to  discover,  I  have  at  length 
g:ot  information  !"'  Who  sees  not  that  by  this  sinall  altera- 
tion, not  only  is  the  vivacity  destroyed,  but  the  expression  i-s 
rendered  stiff  and  foniial,  and  therefore  ill  adapted  to  the 
style  of  conversation!  ■  Shall  we,  then,  restore  what  is  called 
the  graininatical,  because  the  most  common  order,  and  say, 
'I  have  at  length  gotten  iuformalion  of  the  man  whom  you 


THE  miLosoriiY  OF  niinTORic.  117 

were  so  nnxious  to  discover]"  The  arrangonient  hero  is  un- 
exceptionable, hut  the  expression  is  uiiiiiuMiated.  'I'herc.  is 
in  the  first  mHniier  something  thai  disphiys  an  anlour  in  the 
speaker  to  be  the  messenger  of  good  news.  Of  tliis  charac- 
ter there  arc  no  traces  in  the  last;  and  in  the  second  there 
is  a  cold  and  studied  formality  which  would  make  it  appear 
intolerable.  So  much  is  in  the  power  merely  of  arrangement. 
Ought  we,  then,  always  to  prefer  tliis  way  of  placing  tlie  prep- 
osition after  the  governing  word  ?  By  no  means.  There  are 
cases  wlierein  this  is  preferable.  There  are  cases  wherein 
the  other  way  is  preferable.  In  general,  the  former  snits 
belter  the  familiar  and  easy  style  which  copies  the  dialect  of 
conversation  ;  tiu;  latter  more  benefits  tlie  elaborate  and  scd- 
emn  diction,  which  requires  somewhat  of  dignity  and  pomp. 
But  lo  what  purpose,  I  pray,  those  criticisms  which  serve 
only  to  narrow  our  range,  where  there  would  he  no  danger 
of  a  trespass  though  we  were  indulged  with  more  liberty  !  Is 
it  that  the  genius  of  our  language  doth  not  sufilciently  cramp 
us  without  these  additional  restraints?  But  it  is  the  unhap- 
piness  of  the  generality  of  critics,  that  when  two  modes  of 
expressing  the  same  thing  come  under  their  consideration, 
of  which  one  appears  lo  them  preferable,  the  other  is  con- 
denmed  in  gross,  as  what  ought  to  be  reprobated  in  every  in- 
stance. A  few  contractions  have  been  adopted  by  some 
writers  which  appear  harsh  and  affected  ;  and  all  contractions, 
without  exception,  must  be  rejected,  though  ever  so  easy  and 
natural,  and  though  evidently  conducing  to  enliven  the  ex- 
pression.*    One  order  of  the  words  in  a  particular  example 

*  About  the  beginning  of  the  present  cuntnry,  tlie  tenrlency  to  contract  oni 
words,  especially  in  the  coinpounii  tenses  of  tbe  verlis.  was  undoubtedly  e.\- 
cessive.  The  worst  of  ifwas,  that  most  of  the  roiilractions  were  eft'ecled 
by  e.ict>nnging  the  vowels,  even  where  there  was  no  hiatus,  and  tiy  clashing 
togetlier  consonants  of  most  obdurate  sound,  as  Swilt  calls  them,  'fhis 
produced  the  animadversion  of  some  of  our  ablest  pens,  Addison,  Swift, 
Pope,  and  others,  whose  concurring  sentiments  have  operated  so  strongly 
on  the  public,  thai  contractions  of  every  kind  have  ever  since  been  in  dis- 
grace, even  those  of  easy  pronunciation,  and  which  had  been  in  use  long 
before.  Yet  our  accumulated  auxiliaries  seemed  to  rt-quire  something  of 
this  kind.  And  though  I  am  sensible  that  w/isn't,  didn't,  shouldn't,  and 
couldn't  are  intolerably  bad,  there  are  others  of  more  pleasant  sound,  to 
which  our  critics,  without  any  injury  to  the  language,  might  have  given  a 
pass.  On  the  contrary,  eventliose  elisions  whereby  the  sound  is  improved, 
as  when  the  snccession  of  an  initial  to  a  (inal  vowel  is  prevented  (which  in 
all  hmguages  men  have  a  natural  propensity  to  avoid  by  contracting),  as 
I'm  for  I  avi;  or  when  a  feeble  vowel  is  suppressed  without  harshness,  as 
in  the  last  syllable  of  the  preterits  of  our  regular  verbs  (which  witiioiit  a 
contraction  we  can  never  bear  in  verse),  or  when  some  of  our  rougher  con 
sonants  are  cut  off  after  other  consonants,  as  'nn  for  them  (these,  I  say),  liave 
all  shared  the  same  fate.  Some  indulgence,  I  think,  may  still  be  given  to 
the  more  familiar  style  of  dialogues,  letters,  essays,  and  even  of  popular  art 
dresses,  which,  like  comedy,  are  formed  on  the  dialect  of  conversation.  In 
this  dialect,  wherein  all  languages  originate,  the  eagerness  of  conveving 
one's  sentiments,  the  rapidity  and  ease  of  utterance,  necessarily  produce 


418  THE    PHi'f.OSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

seems  worthy  of  ihe  preference;  and  it  must  be  established 
as  a  rule,  that  no  other  order  in  any  case  is  to  be  admitted. 

But  we  are  not  peculiar  mi  lliis  disposition,  though  we  may 
be  peculiar  in  some  of  our  ways  of  exerlinor  it.  'I'lie  French 
critics,  and  even  tiie  Acade.ny,  iiave  proceeded,  if  not  always 
in  the  same  manner,  on  nuioli  the  same  principle  in  the  im- 
provements they  have  made  on  their  language.  Tl'.ey  iiave, 
indeed,  cleared  it  of  many,  not  of  all  their  low  idioms,  cant 
phrases,  and  useless  anomalies;  they  have  rendered  the 
.style,  in  the  main,  more  perspicuous,  more  grammatical,  and 
more  precise  than  it  was  befi)re.  But  they  have  not  known 
where  to  stop.  Their  criticisms  often  degenerate  into  refine- 
ments, and  everything  is  can-ed  to  excess.  If  one  mode  of 
construction,  or  form  of  e.xpn  ssion,  iiatli  been  lucky  enough 
to  please  those  arbitrators  of  the  public  taste,  and  to  obtaui 
their  sanction,  no  different  n  ode  or  form  must  expect  so 
much  as  a  t(deration.  What  is  the  consequence  ?  They 
have  purified  tlieir  language  ;  at  the  same  time,  they  have 
impoverished  it,  and  have,  in  ai  onsiderable  measure,  reduced 
all  kinds  of  composition  to  a  I  isteless  uniformity.  Accord- 
ingly, in  perhaps  no  language,  ancient  or  modern,  will  you 
find  so  little  variety  of  expres-ion  in  the  various  kinds  of 
writing  as  in  French.  In  prose  and  verse,  in  philosophy  and 
romance,  in  tragedy  and  come. 'y,  in  epic  and  pastoral,  the 
difference  may  be  very  great  in  the  sentiments,  but  it  is  no- 
thing, or  next  to  nothing,  in  the  style. 

Is  this  insipid  sameness  to  be  envied  them  as  an  excel 

such  abbreviations.  It  appears,  iiuleeil,  so  natiir.il,  iliat  \  think  it  requires 
that  peo[)le  be  more  than  coininoiily  ph  egiiiauc,  not  to  say  suipid,  lo  be 
able  to  avoid  tliem.  Upon  Ihe  whole,  thi  reforc,  ibif  tendency,  in  my  opin- 
ion, ought  to  have  been  checked  and  re^jlated,  l)nt  not  entirely  crushed. 
That  coiiiracling  serves  to  improve  (he  expression  in  vivacitv  is  manifest ; 
it  was  necessary  only  to  take  care  that  it  miuht  not  hurt  it  in  harmony  or 
in  perspicuity.  It  is  certainly  tins  which  constitutes  one  of  the  greatest 
beauties  m  French  dialogue,  as  by  means  vif  it,  what  in  other  languages  is 
e.vpressed  by  a  pronoun  and  a  preposition,  :hey  sometimes  convey,  not  by  a 
single  syllal)le,  but  by  a  single  letter.  At  I  Me  same  time,  it  must  he  owned, 
they  have  never  admitted  contractions  that  could  justly  he  denominated 
harsh;  thai  they  have  not,  on  the  other  hand,  been  equally  careful  to  avoid 
such  as  are  equivocal,  hath  been  observed  already.  W'e  are  apt  to  imagine 
that  there  is  something  in  the  elision  of  letlfrs  and  contraction  of  syllables 
that  is  particularly  unsuitable  to  the  grave  aid  solemn  .style.  This  notion 
of  ours  is,  I  suspect,  more  the  consequence  of  the  disuse  than  ihe  cause, 
since  such  alibreviations  do  not  oftiend  the  stverest  critic  when  they  occur 
in  books  written  in  an  ancient  or  a  foreign  language.  Even  the  sacred  pen- 
men have  not  disdained  to  adopt  them  into  the  simple,  but  very  serious  style 
of  Holy  Writ.  Witness  the  Kayia  lor  nai  eyui,  an  e^iov  for  nTo  t/jou.  KuKcivoi 
for  Kill  £«nof,  and  many  others.  No  doubt  di'snotude  alone  is  sufiicicnt  to 
create  an  unsuitableness  m  any  language.  I  will  admit  farther,  that  there 
is  some  convenience  m  discriminating  the  ditfe  ent  characters  of  writing  by 
some  such  differences  in  the  style.  For  both  these  reasons,  I  should  not 
now  wish  to  see  them  revived  hi  performances  of  a  serious  or  solemn  na- 
ture. 


»;:e  PHrtosopnY  of  rhetoric.  419 

Onco  '  Oi  s>a]l  we  Britons,  who  are  lovers  of  freedom  al- 
.4iosi  ^v  iJo.a..iy,  v(»;untarily  hamper  ourselves  in  (he  tram- 
mels w.'  i.ie  French  Acaoemy  1  Not  that  I  think  we  shunld 
disdaiii  to  rocei/e  instriiction  from  any  quarter,  from  nejirh- 
bours,  or  oven  from  enemies.  But  as  we  renounce  implicit 
faith  in  more  important  matters,  let  us  renounce  it  here  too. 
Before  we  adopt  any  new  measure  or  limitation,  by  the  prac- 
tice of  whatever  nation  it  comes  recommended  to  us,  let  us 
give  it  an  impartial  exainination,  that  we  may  not,  like  ser- 
vile imitators,  copy  the  bad  witii  the  good.  The  rules  of  our 
language  should  l)realhe  the  same  spirit  with  the  laws  of  our 
country.  'I'hey  ought  to  prove  bars  against  licentiousness, 
without  being  checks  to  liberty. 

SECTION  in. 

MODERN  LANGUAGt;s  COMPARED  WITH  GREKK  AND  LATIN,  PARTICULAR- 
LY IN  REGARD  TO  THE  COMPOSITIJN  OK  SENTENCES. 

Before  I  conclude  this  chapter,  I  must  beg  leave  to  offer  a 
few*  general  remarks  on  the  comparison  of  modern  langua- 
ges with  Greek  and  Latin.  Tiiis  I  am  the  rather  disposed  to 
do,  that  it  will  serve  farther  to  illustrate  the  principles  above 
laid  down.  I  make  no  doubt  but  the  former  have  some  ad- 
vantage in  respect  of  perspicuity.  I  think  not  only  that  the 
disposition  o!  the  words,  according  to  certain  stated  rules, 
may  be  made  more  effectually  to  secure  the  sentence  against 
ambiguous  construction  than  can  be  done  merely  by  inflec- 
tion, but  that  an  habitual  method  of  arranging  words  which 
are  in  a  certain  way  related  to  one  another,  must,  from  the 
natural  influence  of  habit  on  the  principle  of  association,  even 
Jvhere  there  is  no  risk  of  misconstruction,  more  quickly  sug- 
gest the  meaning  than  can  be  done  in  tiie  freer  and  more  va- 
ried methods  made  use  of  in  those  ancient  languages.  This 
holds  especially  with  regard  to  Latin,  wherein  the  mnnber  of 
equivocal  inflections  is  considerably  greater  than  in  Greek; 
and  wherein  there  are  no  articles,  which  are  of  unspeakable 
advantage,  as  for  several  other  purposes,  so  in  particular  for 
ascertaining  the  construction.  But  while  the  latter,  though 
in  this  respectt  inferior,  are,  when  skilfully  managed,  by  no 
means  ill  adapted  for  perspicuous  expression,  they  are,  in  re- 
spect of  vivacity,  elegance,  animation,  and  variety  of  harmo- 
ny, incomparably  superior.  I  shall  at  present  consider  their 
advantage  principally  in  point  of  vivacity,  which  in  a  great 
measure,  when  the  subject  is  of  such  a  nature  as  to  excite 
passion,  secures  animation  also. 

In  the  first  place,  the  brevity  that  is  attainable  in  these  lan- 
guages gives  them  an  immense  superiority.  Some  testimo- 
nies in  confirmation  of  this  remark  may  be  obtained  by  com- 
paring tlio  Latin  examples  of  antithesis  quoted  in  the  notes 


420  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    PaiETOFvIC. 

of  the  third  section  of  the  preceding  chapter,  with  any  English 
translation  that  can  be  made  of  these  passages  ;  and  1  suspect, 
if  a  version  were  attempted  into  any  other  European  tongue, 
the  success  would  not  be  much  better.  It  is  remarkable, 
that  in  any  inscription  in  which  it  is  intended  to  convey  some- 
thing striking  or  emphatical,  we  can  scarcely  endure  a  mod- 
ern language.  Latin  is  almost  invariably  employed  for  this 
purpose  in  all  the  nations  of  Europe.  i\or  is  this  the  effect 
of  caprice  or  pedantry,  as  some,  perhaps,  will  be  apt  to  ima- 
gine. Neither  does  it  proceed  merely,  as  others  will  sup- 
pose, from  the  opinion  that  that  language  is  more  universally 
understood ;  ibr  I  suspect  that  this  is  a  prervOgative  which  will 
be  warmly  contested  by  the  French  ;  but  it  proceeds  from 
the  general  conviction  there  is  of  its  superiority  in  point  of 
vivacity.  That  we  may  be  satisfied  of  this,  let  us  make  the 
trial  by  translating  any  of  the  best  Latin  inscriplions  or  mot- 
toes which  we  remerrlber,  and  we  shall  quickly  perceive  that 
what  charms  us,  expressed  in  their  idiom,  is  scarcely  sup- 
portable when  rendered  into  our  own.*  The  luggage  of  par- 
ticles, such  as  pronouns,  prepositions,  and  auxiliary  verbs, 

*  Let  lis  make  the  experiment  on  the  inscriptions  of  some  of  the  best  de- 
vices or  emhleins  that  are  extant.  I  shall  give  a  few  examples,  for  illustra- 
tion's sake,  from  the  sixth  of  Bonhours'.s  Entretiens d' Ariste  et  iT Eugene,  call- 
ed Les  Devises.  The  first  shall  be  that  of  a  starry  sky  without  the  moon, 
as  representing  an  assembly  of  the  fiir,  in  which  the  lover  finds  not  the  ob- 
ject of  his  passion.  The  motto  is,  "Non  mille  quod  absens."  In  English 
we  must  say.  "A  thousand  cannot  equal  one  that  is  absent."  Another  in- 
stance shall  be  that  of  a  rock  in  the  midst  of  a  tempestuous  sea,  to  denote 
a  hero  who  with  facility  baffles  all  the  assaults  of  his  enemies.  The  mot- 
to, "  Conantia  frangere  frangit."  In  English,  "  I  break  the  things  which 
attempt  to  break  me  "  In  this  example,  we  are  obliged  to  change  the  per- 
son of  the  verb,  that  the  words  may  be  equally  applicable  both  m  the  literal 
sense  and  in  the  figurative,  an  essential  point  in  this  e.f  ercise  of  ingenuny. 
The  personal  pronoun  in  our  langu^.ge  must  always  be  expressed  before  the 
verb.  Now  the  neuter  it  will  not  apply  to  the  hero,  nor  the  masculine  ke 
to  the  rock,  whereas  the  first  person  applies  equally  to  both.  The  third  in- 
stance shall  be  that  of  the  ass  eating  thistles,  as  an  emblem  of  a  parasite 
who  serves  as  a  butt  to  the  company  that  entertain  him.  The  motto, "  Pun- 
gant  dum  saturent."  In  English,  "  Let  them  sting  me,  provided  they  fill 
my  belly."  In  all  these,  how  nervous  is  the  expression  in  the  original ;  how 
spiritless  in  tho  translation  !  Nor  is  this  recourse  to  a  multitude  of  words 
peculiar  to  us.  All  European  languages  labour,  though  not  equally,  under 
the  same  inconvenience.  For  the  French,  take  Bonhours's  version  of  the 
preceding  mottoes.  The  first  is,  "  Mille  ne  valent  pas  ce  que  vaut  nne  ab- 
senlo."  The  second,  "  II  brise  ce  qui  fait  effort  pour  le  briser."  This  ver- 
eion  is  not  perfectly  adequate.  The  Latin  implies  a  number  of  enemies, 
which  is  implied  here.  Better  thus,  "  II  brise  les  choses  qui  font  effort  pour 
le  briser."  The  third  is,  "  Qu'ils  me  piquent,  pourvu  qu'ils  me  saouUent." 
These  are  in  no  respects  superior  to  the  English.  The  Italian  and  the 
Spanish  answer  here  a  little  better.  Bonhours  himself,  who  is  e.xlremely 
unwilling,  even  in  the  smallest  matters,  to  acknowledge  anything  like  a  de- 
fect or  imperfection  in  the  French  tongue,  is  nevertheless  constrained  to 
admit  '.hat  it  is  not  well  adapted  for  furnishing  such  mottoes  and  inscri[< 
tions. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC.  421 

from  which  it  is  impossible  for  us  entirely  to  disencumber 
ourselves,  clogs  tlie  expression  and  enervates  the  sentiment. 

But  it  is  not  in  respect  of  brevity  only  that  the  ancient 
tongues  above  mentioned  are  capable  of  a  more  vivid  diction 
than  the  modern  ;  for  when,  in  the  declensions  and  conjuga- 
tions, the  inflection,  as  is  frequently  the  case,  is  attended  with 
an  increase  of  tlie  number  of  syllables,  the  expression,  on  the 
whole,  cannot  always  be  denominated  briefer,  even  when  it 
consists  of  fewer  words.  However,  as  was  observed  before, 
when  the  construction  is  chiefly  determined  by  inflection, 
there  is  much  ampler  scope  for  choice  in  the  arrangement, 
and,  consequently,  the  speaker  hath  it  much  more  in  his  pow- 
er to  give  the  sentence  that  turn  which  will  serve  most  to 
enliven  it. 

But  even  this  is  not  all  the  advantage  they  derive  from  this 
particularity  in  their  structure.  The  various  terminations  of 
the  same  word,  whether  verb  or  noun,  are  always  conceived 
to  be  more  intimately  vuiited  with  the  term  which  they  serve 
to  lengthen,  than  the  additionvd,  detached,  and  in  tiiemselves 
insignificant,  syllables  or  particles,  which  we  are  obliged  to 
employ  as  connectives  to  our  significant  words.  Our  meth- 
od gives  almost  the  same  exposure  to  the  one  as  to  the  other, 
making  the  insignificant  parts  and  the  significant  equally  con- 
spicuous ;  theirs  much  oftener  sinks,  as  it  were,  the  former 
into  the  latter,  at  once  preserving  their  use  and  hiding  their 
weakness.  Our  modern  languages  may,  in  this  respect,  be 
compared  to  the  art  of  carpentry  in  its  rudest  state,  when  the 
union  of  the  materials  employed  by  tlie  artisan  could  be  ef- 
fected only  by  the  help  of  those  external  and  coarse  imple- 
ments, pins,  nails,  and  cra^nps.  The  ancient  languages  re- 
semble the  same  art  in  its  most  improved  state,  afier  the  in- 
vention of  dovetail  joints,  grooves,  and  mortises,  when  thus 
all  the  principal  junctions  are  efi'ected  by  forming  properly 
the  extremities  or  terminations  of  the  pieces  to  be  joined  ; 
for  by  means  of  these  the  union  of  the  parts  is  rendered  closer, 
while  that  by  which  their  union  is  produced  is  scarcely  pei- 
ceivable.  • 

Addison,  if  I  remember  right,  somewhere  compares  an  epic 
poem  (and  the  same  holds,  though  in  a  lower  degree,  of  eve- 
ry other  literary  production),  written  in  Greek  or  in  J/aiin,  to 
a  magnificent  edifice,  built  of  marble,  porphyry,  or  granite, 
and  Contrasts  with  it  such  a  poem  of  pt  rformance  in  one  of 
our  modern  languages,  which  he  likens  to  such  a  building  ex- 
ecuted in  freestone,  or  any  of  those  coarser  kinds  of  stone 
which  abound  in  some  northern  climates.  The  latter  may  be 
made  to  answer  all  the  essential  purposes  of  accommodation 
as  well  as  the  former,  but  as  the  materials  of  which  it  is  con- 
structed are  not  capable  of  receiving  the  same  polish,  and, 
consequently,  cannot  admit  some  of  the  finer  decorations,  il 
N   N 


422  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF  RHETORIC. 

will  not  only  be  inferior  in  beauty,  but  its  imitative  orna- 
ments will  be  much  less  lively  and  expressive.  It  may,  nev- 
ertlielfss,  be  equal  to  the  other  both  in  grandeur  and  in  utili- 
ty. If  the  representations  that  have  been  given  of  the  Chi- 
nese language  are  genuine  ;  if  all  tlieir  words  are  monosyllab- 
ic and  indeclinable;  if  every  relation  and  circumstance,  even 
time  and  number,  must  be  expressed  by  separate  particles,  I 
should  think  a  performance  in  tlieir  tongue  might  be  justly 
compared  to  a  building  in  brick,  which  may  be  both  neat  and 
convenient,  but  which  hardly  admits  the  highly  ornamental 
finishing  of  any  order  of  architecture,  or,  indeed,  any  other 
species  of  beauty  than  that  resulting  from  the  perception  of 
fitness.     But  this  only  by  the  way. 

If  I  might  be  indulged  one  other  similitude,  T  should  re- 
mark, that  the  difference  between  the  ancient  Greek  and  Latin, 
and  the  modern  European  languages,  is  extremely  analogous 
to  the  difference  there  is  between  their  garb  and  ours.  The 
latter  will,  perhaps,  be  admitted  to  be  equally  commodious — 
possibly,  for  some  purposes,  more  so;  but  with  its  trumpery 
of  buttons  and  button-holes,  ligatures  and  plaits,  formerly  op- 
posed to  one  another,  it  is  stiff  and  unnatural  in  its  appear- 
ance ;  whereas  the  easy  flow  and  continually  varied  foldings 
of  the  former  are  at  once  more  graceful,  and  better  adapted 
for  exhibiting  nature  in  shape,  attitude,  and  motion,  to  advan- 
tage. The  human  figure  is,  I  may  say,  burlesqued  in  the  one 
habit,  and  adorned  by  the  other.  Custom,  which  can  concil- 
iate us  to  anything,  prevents  ns  from  seeing  this  in  ourselves 
and  in  one  another;  but  we  quickly  perceive  the  difference 
in  pictures  and  statues.  Nor  is  there  a  painter  or  a  statuary 
of  eminence  who  is  not  perfectly  sensible  of  the  odds,  and 
who  would  not  think  his  art  degraded  in  being  employed  to 
exhibit  the  reigning  mode.  Nay,  in  regard  to  the  trifling 
changes,  for  they  are  but  trifling,  which  fashion  is  daily  ma- 
king on  our  garments,  how  soon  are  we  ourselves  brought  to 
think  ridiculous  what  we  accounted  proper,  not  to  say  ele- 
gant, but  two  or  three  years  ago;  whereas  no  difference  in 
the  fashions  of  the  time%  and  of  the  country  can  ever  bring  a 
man  of  taste  to  consider  the  drapery  of  the  toga  or  of  the 
pallium  as  any  way  ludicrous  or  offensive. 

Perhaps  I  have  carried  the  comparison  farther  than  was  at 
first  intended.  What  hath  been  said,  however,  more  regards 
the  form  or  structure, than  the  matter  of  the  languages  com- 
pared. Notwithstanding  the  preference  given  above  in  point 
of  form  to  the  ancient  tongues,  the  modern  may,  in  point  of 
matter  (or  the  words  of  which  the  language  is  composed),  be 
superior  to  them.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  this  is  actually 
tiie  case  of  some  of  the  present  European  tongues.  The  ma- 
terials which  constitute  the  riclies  of  a  language  will  always 
bear  a  proportion  to  the  acquisitions  in  knowledge  made  by 


THE  rnniOsoriiY  or  rhetoric.  423 

the  people.  For  this  reason,  I  should  not  hesitate  to  pro- 
nounce that  Englis^il  is  considerably  richer  than  Latin,  and  in 
the  main  fitter  for  all  the  subtde  disquisitions  botii  of  philos- 
ophy and  of  criticism.  If  1  am  more  doubiful  in  reo^ard  to 
the  preference,  when  our  tongue  is  compared  with  Cireek, 
notwithstandinfj  the  superiority  of  our  knowledge  in  arts  and 
sciences,  the  reason  of  my  doubt  is  the  amazing  ductihty  of 
that  language,  by  which  it  was  adapted  to  express  easify  in 
derivations  and  composition.s — new,  indeed,  but  quite  analog- 
ical, and  therefore  quite  intelligible — any  discoveries  in  the. 
sciences,  or  invention  in  the  arts,  that  might  at  any  time  be 
made  in  their  own,  or  imported  from  foreign  countries.  Nay, 
it  would  seem  to  be  a  general  conviction  of  this  disiinguish- 
ing  excellence  that  hath  made  Europeans  almost  universally 
recur  to  Greek  for  a  supply  of  names  to  those  things  which 
are  of  modern  invention,  and  with  which  the  Grecians  them- 
selves never  were  acquainted,  such  as  microscope,  telescope, 
barometer,  thermometer,  and  a  thousand  others. 


CHAPTER  V. 

OP    THE    CONNECTIVES    K.MPLOVEn    IN    COMBINING    THE    SENTENCES 
IN    A    DISCOUKSE. 

In  the  preceding  chapter  I  have  discussed  what  [  had  to 
offer  on  the  manner  of  connecting  the  words,  the  clauses, 
and  the  members  of  a  sentence.  I  intend  in  the  present 
chapter  to  consider  the  various  manners  of  comiecting  the 
sentences  in  a  discourse,  and  to  make  some  remarks  on  this 
subject  for  the  assistance  of  the  composer,  which  are  humbly 
submitted  to  the  judgment  of  the  reader. 

SECTION  I. 

THE    NECESSITY    OF    CONNECTIVES    FOR    THIS    PURPOSE. 

It  will  scarcely  be  doubted  by  any  person  of  discernment, 
that  as  there  should  always  be  a  natural  connexion  in  the 
sentiments  of  a  discourse,  there  should  generally  be  corre- 
sponding to  this  an  artificial  connexion  in  the  signs.  Without 
such  a  connexion  the  whole  will  appear  a  sort  of  patchwork, 
and  not  a  uniform  piece.  To  such  a  style  we  might  justly 
apply  the  censure  which  the  Emperor  Caligula  gave  of  Sen 
eca's,  that  it  is  "  sand  without  lime,"*  the  parts  having  no  co- 
hesion. As  to  the  connexion  of  periods  and  other  sentences, 
it  is  formed,  like  that  of  words,  clauses,  and  members,  most- 
*  Arena  sine  calee. 


424  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   RHETORIC. 

ly  by  conjunctions,  frequently  by  pronouns,  the  demonstra- 
tive especially,*  and  sometimes  by  other  methods,  of  which 
I  shall  soon  have  occasion  to  take  notice. 

When  facts  are  related  in  continuation,  or  when  one  argu- 
ment, remark,  or  illustration  is  with  the  same  view  produced 
after  another,  the  conjunction  is  a  copulative.^  If  the  senti- 
ment in  the  second  sentence  is  in  any  way  opposed  to  that 
M  liich  immediately  precedes,  an  adoersalive  is  employed  to 
conjoin  them.l  I*  it  is  produced  as  an  exception,  there  are 
also  exceptive  conjunctions  for  the  purpose.^  Both  the  last 
mentioned  orders  are  comprehended  under  the  general  name 
disjunctive.  If  the  latter  sentence  include  the  reason  of  what 
had  been  affirmed  in  the  preceding,  the  casual  is  used.||  If, 
on  the  contrary,  it  contain  an  inference,  it  must  be  introduced 
by  an  illalive.'^  Besides  these,  there  is  in  every  tongue  a 
immber  of  phrases,  which  have  the  power  of  conjunctions  in 
uniting  sentences,  and  are  of  great  utility  in  composition, 
both  for  enabling  the  orator  to  hit  with  greater  exactness  the 
relations,  almost  infinitely  diversified,  that  may  subsist  be- 
tween the  thoughts,  and  for  the  variety  they  afford  in  that 
part  of  speech,  wherein  variety  is  more  needed  than  in  any 
other.**  It  likewise  deserves  our  notice,  that  several  of 
those  words  which  are  always  classed  by  grammarians  and 
lexicographers  among  the  adverbs,  have,  in  uniting  the  sev- 
eral parts  of  a  discourse,  all  the  effect  of  conjunctions. ff  The 
general  name  of  connexive  1  shall  therefore  apply  indiscrimi- 
nately to  them  all, 

SECTION  II. 

OBSERVATIONS    O.V    THE    MANNER    OP   USING   THE    CONNECTIVES   IN  COM- 
BINING   SENTENCES. 

It  remains  to  make  a  few  observations  with  regard  to  the 
right  manner  of  using  the  materials  above  specified  for  con- 
necting sentences  and  paragraphs.  It  is  not,  indeed,  by  any 
use  of  them,  that  we  can  prof)ose  to  add  much  energy  to  the 
style,  for  that  is  rarely  the  gift  of  these  particles ;  but  we 
may  employ  them  so  as  to  preclude  the  irksomeness  and 
languor  which  invariably  result  from  an  improper  use  of 
them. 

*   This,  that,  such. 

t  And,  now,  also,  too,  likeivise,  again,  besides,  further,  moreover,  yea,  nay,  nor. 

X  But,  or,  however,  whereas.  ^    Yet,  neverthelesi. 

II  For  IT    Then,  therefore. 

**  Add  to  this,  ire  like  manner,  on  the  contrary,  in  short,  to  proceed,  to  return, 
to  conclude.  We  might  produce  phrases,  if  necessary,  corresponding  to  each 
of  the  above  orders. 

ft  Such  are  some  adverbs  of  time,  as  then,  signifying  at  that  time,  hjttierto, 
formerly;  of  place,  as  here,  thus  far  ;  of  order,  as  first,  secondly,  finally ;  of 
resemblance,  as  thus,  accordingly  ;  of  contrariety,  as  else,  otherwise,  contrari' 
wise. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    nUETORlC.  425 

My  first  obsen'ation  shall  be,  that  as  there  arc  many  con- 
junctions and  connective  phrases  appropriated  to  tlie  coup- 
ling of  sentences  that  are  never  employed  in  joiniiii^  tiie 
members  of  a  sentence,  so  there  are  several  conjunctions 
appropriated  to  ttie  latter  use  which  are  never  employed  in 
tlie  former,  and  some  that  arc  equally  adapted  to  boiii  lliese 
purposes.  This  distinction  in  connectives  will  be  found  in 
different  instances  to  llow  from  different  sources.  In  some 
it  is  a  natural  distinction  arising  from  the  very  import  of  the 
words;  iti  which  case  we  shall  always  find,  on  inquiry,  liiat 
it  obtains  alike  in  every  tongue.  In  other  instances,  it  is  a 
distinciion  merely  customary,  founded  on  the  usages  which 
prevail  in  a  particular  language. 

As  to  those  particles  which  are  naturally  fitted  for  con- 
joining clauses  and  members,  but  not  sentences,  they  are 
chiefly  the  comparative,*  the  hypothetical,!  and  the  inten- 
tional.J  Let  it  not  be  imagined  that,  because  a  conjunction 
which  falls  under  one  or  otlier  of  these  denominations  is  of- 
ten found  in  the  begiiming  of  a  sentence,  it  serves  to  couple 
the  sentence  with  that  which  went  before.  Such  a  connex- 
ive  will  always  be  discovered,  on  examination,  to  have  no 
reference  to  anytliing  without  the  sentence.  Consider  the 
following  examples  :  "  If  ye  love  me,  ye  will  keep  my  com- 
mandments"— "Though  I  tell  you  wliat  I  am,  ye  will  not  be- 
lieve me" — "  That  I  might  save  sinners  I  came  into  the 
world."  It  is  manifest  that  the  conjunction  wherewith  each 
of  these  sentences  begins  marks  singly  the  relation  that  sub- 
sists between  the  two  following  clauses,  or  the  nature  of  the 
dependance  which  the  one  has  on  the  other.  It  is  not  even 
implied  in  the  expression  that  anything  had  been  said  before. 
Accordingly,  the  same  sense,  without  any  variation,  is  ex- 
pressed when  the  clauses  are  transposed,  though  sometimes 
the  one  arrangement  will  exhibit  it  with  greater  energy  than 
the  other.  'I'hus,.  "  Ye  will  keep  my  commandments,  if  ye 
love  me" — "Ye  will  not  believe  me,  though  I  tell  you  what 
I  am ;"  and,  "  I  came  into  the  world  that  I  might  save  sin- 
ners," are  precisely  the  same  sentiments  with  those  con 
tained  in  the  examples  produced. 

But  may  not  the  subordinate  part  connected  with  the  ad- 
ditional particle  properly  constitute  one  sentence,  and  the 
declaration  another!  Impossible.  Every  sentence  must 
contain  the  enunciation  of  some,  proposition  distinctly  intelli- 
gible by  itself,  and  expressive  of  some  judgment,  desire,  or 
purpose  of  the  speaker.  But  what  only  points  to  the  motive 
or  condition  of  something  yet  untold  answers  none  of  these 
ends  Tims  the  words  •■  Unless  ye  repent"  enunciate  no- 
thing, and  therefore  convey  to  tlie  hearer  no  mformation  of 

*    Thtm.  t  If,  thougli.  although,  when,  unless,  except 

X   That,  so  thai,  insomuch  that,  lest. 

N  n  2 


426  THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF  RHETORIC. 

judgment,  purpose,  or  desire.  They  give,  indeed,  the  expec- 
tation of  such  information,  and  ihereb}'  keep  up  the  attemion 
till  we  hear  what  follows.  No  sooner  are  the  words  "  ye 
shall  perish"  added,  than  wo  have  the  explicit  declaration  of 
a  certain  judgment  or  sentiment  of  the  speaker.  For  this 
reason,  grammarians  have  justly  remarked,  that  in  every 
sentence  there  must  be  a  verb  in  the  indicative  mood  either 
expressed  or  implied.  In  all  three  examples  above  given, 
we  have  it  expressed  in  the  second  clause  of  their  original 
form  ;  the  verb  in  the  hypothetical  part,  and  in  that  part 
which  marks  the  intention,  is  properly  in  the  subjunctive  or 
potential.  It  matters  not  whether  the  mood  be  distinguished 
by  inflection,  arrangement,  or  particles.  In  commands,  in- 
terrogations, and  wishes,  the  indicative  is  not  expressed,  but 
implied,  and  by  the  idiom  of  the  tongue  suggested  to  the  un- 
derstanding with  sufficient  clearness.  The  interrogative  and 
the  optative,  as  well  as  the  imperative,  are,  in  respect  of 
sense,  totally  distinct  from  the  two  ttioods  above  mentioned, 
though  in  most  languages  distinguished  only  by  particles  or 
arrangement.*  Thus,  though  in  these  three  sentences,-"  Go 
away,"  "  Will  ye  go  away  ?"  and  "  0  that  ye  would  go  away," 
there  is  properly  no  indicative  expressed,  yet  it  is^o  mani- 
festly implied,  that  none  who  understands  the  language  can 
be  at  a  loss  to  perceive  that  each  of  them  fully  enunciates  a 
certain  affection  of  the  speaker,  a  command,  request,  or  wish. 
They  signify  neither  more  nor  less  than  '•  I  command  you  to 
go  away  ;"  "  I  desire  to  be  informed  whether  ye  will  go 
away;"  and  "  I  wish  ye  would  go  away." 

What  hath  been  said  of  the  conditional  and  intentional  par- 
ticles holds  still  more  evidently  of  the  comparative  particle 
than,  which,  as  frequently  it  doth  not  even  need  to  be  follow- 
ed by  a  verb  in  any  mood,  so  it  can  never  begin  the  sentence 
without  a  manifest  hyperbaton.  The  particle  as  is  some- 
times strictly  a  comparative  conjunction.  Such  it  is  in  these 
words,  "  As  your  fathers  did,  so  do  ye."  In  this  case  it  falls 
under  the  same  predicament  with  the  conditional  connec- 
tives. Sometimes  it  is  equivalent  to  thus,  and  may  be  still 
called  a  comparative  particle,  as  it  intimates  some  resem- 
blance in  that  which  follows  to  that  which  preceded.  But  this 
is  also  effected  by  the  copulatives  likewise  and  in  like  manner. 
Such  it  is  in  the  beginning  of  this  similitude, 

"As  when  an  angel  by  divine  command."* 
In  this  case  it  evidently  connects  sentences.  Again,  the  illa- 
tive is  perfectly  adapted  for  connecting  sentences.  The  in- 
ference itself  may  very  properly  be  expressed  in  a  proposition 
distinctly  enunciated,  and,  therefore,  independently  intelligi- 
ble.    The  conjunction  sreves  only  to  intimate  that  the  rea- 

*  See  Hermes,  b.  i..  chap.  vUi.  t  Addison's  Campaign 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  RHETOniC.        427 

son  or  evidence  of  this  jndffmenf,  which  may  also  he  a  dis- 
tinct proposition,  was  assigned  in  the  words  immediaicly 
preceding.  This  reasoning  holds,  in  like  manner,  witli  re- 
gard to  the  causal  conjunction.  The  relation  between  the 
sentences  is  the  same  ;  tiie  order  only  is  inverted,  as  we  have 
here  the  consequence  helbro  the  cause.  And  1  su[)pose  it  is  loo 
clear  to  need  illustration,  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  import 
of  the  words  to  hinder  copulatives  and  disjunctiies  from  con- 
necting sentences  as  well  as  members,  and  members  as  well 
as  sentences.  Yet  even  among  those  that  are  alike  fitted 
for  both  purposes,  there  is  some  difference  in  point  of  strength. 
From  their  very  nature  they  do  not  all  unite  the  parts  with 
equal  closeness.  They  are  like  cements  which  differ  in  their 
degrees  of  tenacity.  'I'hus  the  illative  conjunctions  and  tiie 
causal  constitute  a  more  intimate  union  than  the  adversative 
and  the  copulative.  Again,  that  formed  by  demonstrative 
pronouns  seems  weaker  than  that  effected  by  conjunctions. 
So  much  for  the  natural  diflcrence  in  the  connectives  result- 
ing from  the  different  import  of  tiie  words. 

That  there  is  also  a  great,  though  arbitrary  difference,  ari- 
sing from  idiom,  is  unquestionable.  In  the  best  authors  of 
antiquity  we  often  meet  with  sentences  that  begin  wilii  a 
relative  pronoun,  answering  to  our  who,  whom,  or  which.  By 
all  the  most  eminent  writers  among  the  moderns,  not  only  in 
English,  hut  in  other  European  tongues,  this  practice  is  now, 
I  think,  carefully  avoided.  It  is  custom  only  that  can  make 
this  difference.  When  the  cause  is  purely  natural,  the  effect 
will  be  found  the  same  in  all  languages.  Accordingly,  what 
was  observed  above  concerning  the  conditional,  intentional, 
and  comparative  conjunctions,  is  equally  applicable  to  every 
tongue;  and  if  we  consider  abstractly  the  effect  of  the  rela- 
tives, we  shall  find  that  what  follows  the  xvho,  whom,  or  jihich, 
is  often  the  enunciation  of  some  judgment,  purpose,  or  de- 
sire, which,  as  it  maj/  constitute  a  separate  sentence,  serves 
to  vindicate  from  the  charge  of  impropriety  the  usage  of  the 
ancients.  Yet  there  is  some  reason,  also,  on  the  side  of 
the  moderns.  The  personal  pronouns  do  but  presuppose  the 
subject,  whether  person  (u-  thing,  to  be  known,  and,  conse- 
quently, do  no  more  than  supersede  the  repetition  of  the 
name.  There  can  be,  therefore,  no  doubt  of  the  propriety  of 
beginning  sentences  with  these  ;  whereas  the  relatives  not 
only  refer  to  sometliing  immediately  said,  that  we  may 
know  the  subject  of  discourse,  but  seem  so  closely  to  con- 
nect the  part  which  follows  witli  that  which  precedes,  that 
the  one  makes,  as  it  were,  the  description  of  either  the  nom- 
inative, or  the  regimen  of  tiie  verb,  in  the  other.  In  this 
view,  tliey  may  be  said  to  create  ;i  union  too  close  to  subsist 
conveniently  between  different  sentences.  There  is  at  least 
a  risk  that  thev  will  give  such  an  ambiguous  appearance  to 


428  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

the  second  as  to  render  it  doubtful  whether  it  be  a  separate 
sentence,  or  a  member  of  the  foregoing.  For  this  reason, 
the  illative  wherefore,  as  it  inchides  ilie  power  of.llie  pronoun 
w/iich,  doth  not  seem  to  be  so  analogically  used  by  our  wri- 
ters ill  connecting  sentences  as  in  coiniecting  memoers. 

Again,  as  an  irrefragable  evidence  that  there  is  a  diflference 
in  connectives  arising  purely  from  idiom,  let  it  be  observed 
that  we  find  it  sometimes  taking  place  among  conjunctions 
of  the  same  order.  The  causal  because  forms  too  close  a 
union  to  subsist  between  separate  sentences.  The  case  is 
different  with  the  causal /«?•,  though  in  every  other  respect 
synonymous.  This  latter  particle  is  not.  adapted  for  uniting 
clauses  which  must  necessarily  be  included  in  the  same  sen- 
tence. As  an  evidence  that  this  distinction  can  be  attributed 
only  to  custom,  we  may  remark,  that  it  is  variable,  differing 
in  different  ages.  For  instance,  in  Shakspeare's  time,  the 
causal  particles  seem  to  have  been  used  promiscuously.  We 
have  at  least  in  his  writings  several  examples  in  which  he 
uses  the  pariicle/or  where  every  writer  at  present  would  say 
because,  as  in  tiie  following  passage  : 

"Heaven  defend  your  good  souls,  that  ye  think, 

1  will  your  serious  and  great  business  scant, 

Fur  she  is  with  me."* 

Nay,  even  among  the  copulatives,  which,  of  all  the  conjunc- 
tions, are  the  most  vague  in  their  application,  there  are  some 
that  use  seems  to  have  appropriated  to  the  coupling  of  sen- 
tences, not  of  members,  such  as  agam,  farther,  besides;  and 
some  to  the  uniting  not  of  sentences  so  properly  as  of  para- 
graphs, or  even  of  larger  portions  of  writing  than  commonly 
fall  under  that  denomination,  such  as  tnoreover  and  further- 
more. 

The  copulative  and,  on  the  contrary,  some  critics  are  for 
confining  to  the  snigle  purpose  of  uniting  the  parts  within  the 
sentence,  and  seem  to  imagine  that  there  is  some  improprie- 
ty in  using  it  for  combining  sentences.  But  as  in  this  opin- 
ion, from  what  hath  been  evinced  above,  it  is  evident  they 
are  not  supported  by  any  argument  from  the  import  of  the 
words,  this  conjunction  being  naturally  on  the  same  footing 
with  the  other  copulatives,  so  neither  have  they  any  plea 
from  usage  in  its  favour.  The  examples  for  the  contested 
use,  which  might  be  produced  from  all  the  best  authorities  in 
the  language,  are  innumerable.  But  though  use  alone,  in 
matters  of  language,  is  ever  held  a  sufficient  reason  why 
things  should  contmue  in  the  stale  wherein  we  find  them, 
when  there  is  no  positive  ground  for  an  alteration,  I  shall,  in 
the  present  case,  where,  indeed,  I  could  never  discover  the 
vestige  of  a  reason  for  change,  produce  two  arguments  on 
the  opposite  side  against  excluding  this  particle  from  a  priv- 
»  Othello. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    UHF.TOIUC.  420 

ilege  it  hath  alwaj's  heretofore  possessed  ;  arguments  wliicli, 
I  lujpe,  will  appear  satisfactory.  First,  being  a  moiiosylia- 
ble,  it  will,  on  a  principle  above  explained,  if  not  used  too  of- 
ten, serve  to  sniootli  the  current  of  tlie  discourse,  inasniucli 
as  it  will  render  the  transition  from  sentence  to  sentence  ea- 
sier tlian  it  is  possible  to  render  it  when  recourse  is  always 
had  to  connectives  of  greater  length.  Secondly,  it  adds  one 
to  the  number  of  the  copulatives,  and,  consequently  (where 
variety  is  of  importance,  as  it  certainly  is  here,  on  a  princi- 
ple presently  to  be  explained),  this  particle,  if  not  absolutely 
necessary,  is  at  least  convenient. 

My  second  observation  is,  that  one  of  the  best  expedients 
foi'  preventing  the  connexivcs  from  being  too  conspicuous,  is 
to  avoid  the  frequent  recurrence  to  the  same  particles,  espe- 
cially if  they  consist  of  more  than  one  syllable;  and  if  so, 
with  still  greater  reiison  must  we  avoid  recurring  often  to 
the  same  conjunctive  phrases. 

I  do  not  deny  that  there  are  cases  wherein  the  repetition 
even  of  a  conjunction,  like  other  rhetorical  repetitions,  may 
add  to  the  energy  of  the  expression.  Thus,  when  several 
successive  sentences  bear  the  same  relation  to  one  that  pre- 
ceded, or  to  one  that  is  to  follow-,  this  containing  the  com- 
mon cause,  consequence,  motive,  or  concomitant  of  what  is 
signified  in  those,  they  may  be  ushered  more  emphatically  by 
repeating  the  connexive  than  by  varying  it.  Tlie  common 
relation  gives  a  propriety  to  the  figure.  But  such  cases  are 
rare  and  easily  distinguished.  As  to  those  which  usually  oc- 
cur to  the  composer,  it  may  be  asserted  to  hold  universally, 
that  nothing  will  contribute  more  to  enfeeble  the  style  than 
frequently  to  recur  to  the  same  heavy  conjunctions  or  long 
connectives,  whatever  they  be.  The  now,  nrul,  for,  but,  nay, 
nor,  have  this  advaiitage  from  their  brevity,  that,  though  often 
repeated,  they  pass  almost  unnoticed.  But  who  that  hath 
any  taste  can  endure  the  incessant  quick  returns  of  the  n!so''s, 
and  the  li/icwise''s,  and  the  morenrera,  and  the  however's,  and  the 
notwil/is/.anding's\  An  excess  in  these  is  insupportable.  It  is 
a  maxim  in  elocution  that  will  not  often  be  found  to  fail,  that 
in  the  use  of  the  more  ignoble  parts  of  speech,  there  is  great- 
er need  of  variety  than  in  the  use  of  such  as  are  of  higher 
quality.  The  very  significance  of  the  nobler  parts  doth,  as  it 
were,  support  their  dignity  ;  but  since  the  attendance  of  the 
less  nobler  is  necessary,  shift  them  oftener,  obtrude  not  on 
us  always  the  same  individuals,  and  we  shall  have  less  lei- 
sure to  criticise  them,  or  to  advert  to  their  insignificance. 

The  third  remark  I  shall  make  on  this  subject  is,  that  an- 
other useful  expedient  for  answering  the  same  end  is  to  vary 
the  situation  of  the  conjunction,  wherever  the  idiom  of  the 
tongue  and  the  harmony  of  the  sentence  will  permit  the  va- 
riation.    The  place   where  we  should  naturally  expect  to 


430  THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF    RHETORIC. 

find  it,  when  it  connects  two  sentences,  is  doubtless  the  be- 
ginning of  tiie  second.  But  in  most  languages  a  little  latitude 
is  indulged  on  this  article.  In  those  cases,  therefore,  which 
admit  this  freedom,  one,  two,  or  more  words  may  precede 
the  conjunction,  and  serve  as  a  cover  to  render  it  less  ob- 
serval)le.  In  the  beginning  it  stands  by  itself;  whereas, 
placed  in  the  manner  now  mentioned,  it  maybe  said  to  stand 
in  a  crowd.  But  no  tongue  whatever  gives  this  indulgence 
in  assigning  a  place  to  every  connexive. 

With  us  in  particular,  no  monosyllabic  conjunction,  except 
the  illative  then,  can  be  thus  transposed.*  Our  language, 
however,  hath  been  abundantly  indulgent  (where  indulgen  e 
is  of  greater  consequence)  in  the  power  it  gives  us  in  the 
disposal  of  those  which  consist  of  more  than  one  syllable. 
Thus,  almost  0,11  the  copulatives  which  come  under  ihis  de- 
nomination,! the  disjunctives  hoioever  and  iiecertheless-X  an  i 
the  illative  iherefore,  may  be  shifted  to  the  second,  the  third, 
the  fourth  place,  or  even  farther. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  assigu  a  satisfactory  reason  for  the 
difference  that  hath  been  made  in  this  respect  between  con- 
junctions of  one  syllable  and  those  of  more.  Yet  we  have 
ground  to  believe  that  it  is  not  merely  accidental  as  some 
traces  of  the  same  distinction  are  to  be  found  in  most  lan- 
guages.'^ It  will,  indeed,  appear,  from  what  hath  oeen  illus- 
trated above,  that  the  monosyllabic  conjunctions  lieed  not  be 
managed  with  the  same  address  as  the  others,  Iflere  not  be- 
ing the  same  hazard  that  they  would  soon  becoine  tiresome. 
On  the  contrary,  it  may  be  said  that,  being  of  tjiemselves  so 
inconsiderable,  it  is  necessary  that  their  situalion  be  ascer- 
taiiU'd,  in  order  to  give  them  that  degree  of  infutence,  without 
which  they  could  not  answer  the  purpose  even  of  conjunc- 
tions. 

But  it  may  be  argued  against  the  solution  now  given,  and, 
indeed,  against  the  whole  of  the  precedent  reasoning  on  this 

*  There  is  another  monosyllabic  conjunction,  which,  even  when  it  con- 
nects sentences,  is  not  placed  in  the  beginni.i?^  of  the  second.  But  this  im- 
plies no  transposition,  as  the  first  pl.Tce  could  no',  be  assigned  to  it.  without 
the  violation  of  universal  practice.  The  panicle  I  mean  is  the  conjunction 
tun  when  it  signifies  also.  Thus  we  say,  "  He  loo  was  included  in  the  act 
of  indemnity."     To  say  '•  Too  he"  would  not  he  English. 

t  The  copulative  again  cannot  conveniently  be  transposed,  as  it  would 
scarcely  fail  to  occasion  an  ambiguity,  and  be  mistaken  for  the  adverb  sig- 
nifying a  second  time. 

t  The  disjunctive  whereas  is  nr-ver  transposed. 

^  in  Latin,  for  example,  the  monosyllabic  conjunctions  ef,  sed.  nam,  when 
thoy  connect  two  sentences,  regularly  maintain  their  place  in  the  beginning 
of  the  second  ;  whereas,  to  the  dissylahles  quoque,  auie7n,  eiiim,  more  lati- 
tude is  allowed,  hi  French,  too,  the  monosyllal)les  el,  7nais,  car.  have  in- 
variably the  same  situation,  it  is  otherwise  with  aussi,  pourtant,  pourquoi ; 
though  there  is  not  so  great  freedom  allowed  in  arranging  them  as  in  tha 
English  dissyllabic  conjunctions. 


THE    PUILOSOPHY    OP    RHETORIC.  431 

article,  "Hew  few,  if  any,  have  ever  reflected  on  tne  difTer 
eiU  (.(Tects  of  these  different  arrangements  !  Or  liow  could  a 
difference  not  reflected  on  give  rise  to  a  difference  in  tin-  laws 
liy  whicii  the  irrespective  places  are  assigned  liiemr'  To 
tiiis  I  answer,  (hat  taste  alone,  wiiose  general  principles  arc 
the  same  ...  every  [)eople,  and  winch,  like  every  appetite, 
seeks  its  own  gratification,  prodncetli  insensibly,  as  it  im- 
proves,and  even  wlieretherc  is  iiodirectinlention, an  improve- 
ment in  the  language  as  well  as  in  the  arts.  It  is  by  gradual, 
and  what  may  be  termed  implicit  compact,  that  the  language, 
like  the  common  law  of  every  nation,  hatli  obtained  at  first 
an  establishment  among  them.  It  is  to  the  same  cause  tfiat 
the  alterations  to  the  l^etter  or  to  the  worse,  as  knowledge 
and  taste  advance  or  decline  among  the  people,  are  afterward 
to  be  ascribed.  That  there  should  ever  have  been  any  formal 
or  ex[)licil  convention  or  contrivance  in  this  case,  is  an  hy- 
pothesis, in  my  opinion,  not  only  unsupported  by  reason,  but 
repugnant  to  it.  It  is  tiie  province  of  criticism  and  philoso- 
pliy,  which  appear  much  later  than  language,  being  of  imich 
slower  growth,  and  to  which  close  atieiiti(Mi  and  relleclion 
are  not  less  requisite  than  taste,  to  investigate  the  latent 
causes  in  the  principles  of  taste,  by  which  the  various  chan- 
ges have  been  actually,  though  in  a  manner  imperceptibly, 
produced. 

My  fourth  observation  is,  that  thongli  certain  circumstan- 
ces require  that  one  eonnexive  bo  immediately  followed  by 
another,  the  -iccumulating  of  these  witiiont  necessity  tnigiit 
always  to  be  avoided,  'rhere  are  some  complex  conjunc- 
tions which  appear  to  be  two,  because,  in  writing,  custom 
hath  not  combined  the  parts  into  one  word,  but  are  properly 
one  in  import  and  effect.  Such  are  as  it\  so  that,  insomuch 
that,  and  a  few  others.     Of  these  1  am  not  now  speaking. 

As  to  those  between  wiiich,  though  adjoined  in  situation, 
there  is  no  coalition  in  sense,  let  it  be  observed,  that  there 
are  cases  in  which  propriety  requires  the  aid  of  more  than 
one;  there  are  eases  in  which  the  idiom  of  the  language  per- 
mits the  use  of  more  ;  that,  on  the  contrary,  there  are  cases 
in  wiiich  propriety  rejects  the  union  altogether;  and,  lastly, 
there  are  cases  in  which  idiom  rejects  it.  Each  of  these  four 
classes  1  shall  consider  severally. 

First,  as  to  the  cases  wherein  propriety  requires  the  aid  of 
more  than  one  eonnexive,  it  was  remarked  formerly,  that 
some  conjunctious  are  limited  to  the  use  of  connecting  words 
and  members,  while  others  are  employed  indiscriminately 
for  the  connexion  of  words,  members,  or  sentences.  When 
one  of  each  kind  meets  in  the  beginning  of  a  sentence,  the 
intemion  of  the  first  is  generally  to  express  the  relation 
which  the  sentence  bears  to  that  immediately  preceding  ; 
and  the  intention  of  the  second,  to  express  the  dependance 


432  THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF    RHETORIC. 

of  the  one  clause  on  the  other  in  the  sentence  so  introduced. 
Take  llie  following  passage  of  Scripture  for  an  example  :  "I 
go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you.  And  if\  go  to  prepare  a  place 
for  you,  1  will  come  again,  and  receive  you  to  myself."* 
The  copulative  and  connects  the  two  sentences.  The  hypo- 
thetical conjunction  i/' serves  only  to  mark  the  first  member 
of  the  last  sentence,  as  the  condition  or  limitation  of  the 
]iromise  contained  in  the  second  member.  The  reader  will 
observe  that  1  have  distinguished  the  different  applications  of 
the  two  conjunctions  in  this  example  by  a  difference  in  the 
character  in  which  they  are  printed.  1  intend,  for  the  sake 
of  perspicuity,  to  adopt  the  same  method  in  the  other  ex- 
ami)les  which  are  to  be  produced.  But  it  is  not  copulatives 
only  that  may  be  thus  combined  with  conditional  particles. 
The  causal,  illative,  and  adversative  may  all  be  employed 
in  tlie  same  way.  The  first  of  these  is  exemplified  in  the 
following  quotation :  "  Let  us  not  say  we  keep  the  com- 
mandments of  the  one,  when  we  break  the  commandments 
of  the  other.  Fou  unless  we  observe  both,  we  obey  neither."! 
The  above  instances  will  serve  to  illustrate  the  observation 
in  all  other  combinations  with  connectives  of  the  same  order. 
For  an  example  of  the  like  construction  in  the  conjunction 
that,  these  words  of  the  poet  will  suffice. 
"  If  there's  a  power  above  us^ 
And  that  there  is,  all  Nature  cries  aloud 
Through  all  her  works— he  must  delight  in  virtue."j 

It  is  not  material  that  the  whole  is  here  comprised  in  one 
sentence.  The  first  conjunction  serves  to  unite  the  member 
that  precedes  with  that  which  follows  ;  the  second  to  exhibit 
the  connexion  that  subsists  between  the  succeeding  clauses. 
And  what  relation  two  connected  complex  sentences  bear  to 
the  members  of  each,  that  relation  bear  the  members  of  a 
complicated  sentence  to  the  clauses  of  which  they  consist. 
It  was  said  that  the  first  of  two  conjunctions  so  placed  is 
generally  the  connexive  of  the  sentences,  and  that  the  second 
marks  the  relation  subsisting  between  the  members  of  the 
sentence  which  ensues.  This  holds  generally,  but  not  al- 
ways. If  the  connective  of  the  sentences  be  one  of  those 
particles,  which,  agreeably  to  the  third  observation,  the  idiom 
of  the  language  permits  us  to  transpose,  it  may  properly  pos- 
sess the  second  place,  and  the  other  the  first,  as  in  the  exam- 
ple following :  "  It  is  of  the  utmost  importance  to  us  that  we 
associate  principally  with  the  wise  and  virtuous.  When 
THKKKFORK,  we  choosc  our  companions,  we  ought  to  be  ex- 
tremely careful  in  regard  to  the  choice  we  make."  The  sec- 
ond conjunction  thekefore  is  that  which  connects  the  sen- 
tences. The  first  conjunction  ivhenhMh  no  relation  to  any- 
thing beyond  the  second  sentence.  The  only  examples  I 
*  John,  xiv.,  2,  3.  t  Hooker.  t  Addison's  Cato 


THE   PIIILOSOrHY  OF  UIIETORIC.  433 

have  yet  produced  are  tliose  wherein  one  of  the  conimu-tinns 
is  by  its  nature  always  appropriated  to  tlio  sulxjrdinate  use 
oi"  connectinor  the  parts  of  a  sentence  ;  hut  even  where  llie 
two  connectives  are  alike  susceptible  of  both  uses,  tlie  slruc- 
turc  of  the  expression  may  sufTiciently  evince  that  tiic  one  is 
employed  solely  to  conncict  the  sentence  to  what  precedes  in 
the  discourse,  and  the  other  solely  to  conjoin  tiie  members, 
as  in  the  following  example:  "  Sucli  is  the  probable  conse- 
quence of  the  measure  I  now  recommend.  Bur  howevr.r  this 
may  succeed,  our  duty  is  the  same."  Of  the  difTerent  appli- 
cations of  the  two  conjunctions  in  this  passage,  there  cannot 
be  the  smallest  doubt.  Sometimes  a  decompound  sentence 
may  be  ushered  by  no  fewer  than  three  successive  conjunc- 
tions, the  first  being  the  connexive  of  the  sentences,  the  sec- 
ond that  which  ascertains  the  relation  of  the  members  of  the 
sentence  thus  introduced,  the  third  that  which  inchcates  the 
connexion  of  the  clauses  of  the  first  member  of  that  sentence. 
as  in  the  subsequent  example:  "To  those  who  do  not  love 
God,  the  enjoyment  of  him  is  unattainable.  NOW  as  that 
we  may  love  God,  ||  it  is  necessary  to  know  him;  so  thai 
we  may  know  God,  ||  it  is  necessary  to  study  his  works." 
The  conjunction  NOW  connects  this  period  witli  the  prece- 
ding sentence  ;  as  is  expressive  of  the  relation  which  the  first 
member  bears  to  the  second,  beginning  with  S(j ;  that  indicates 
the  dependance  of  the  first  clause  of  the  first  member,  "  we 
may  love  God,"  on  the  second  clause,  "  it  is  necessary  to 
know  him  ;"  and  corresponds  to  the  conjunction  that,  which 
follows  the  so  in  the  beginning  of  the  second  member,  and 
which,  in  like  manner,  indicates  the  dependance  of  the  first 
clause  of  the  second  member,  "  we  may  know  God,"  on  the 
last  clause,  "  it  is  necessary  to  study  his  works."  But  though 
the  introduction  of  two  conjunctions,  having  dilTerent  refer- 
ences in  the  manner  above  explained,  is  perfectly  comp;ilible 
with  the  rules  of  good  writing,  and  often  inevitable,  I  cannot 
say  so  much  for  the  admission  of  three;,  whose  various  ap- 
plications inust  distract  the  attention,  and  so  create  a  confu- 
sion and  difficulty  alike  inconsistent  with  the  principles  of 
perspicuity,  of  vivacity,  or  of  elegance. 

Secondly,  as  to  those  cases  wherein  we  cannot  say  propri- 
ety requires,  but  the  idiom  of  the  language  permits  the  use 
of  more  than  one  connexive,  they  are  either  when  the  cou- 
nexives  are  of  the  same  order  ;  for  instance,  in  the  copula- 
tives and  farther,  and  in  like  manner;  in  the  adversatives  but 
hoidever  ;  in  the  exceptives  yet  nevertheless,  yet  notwithstanding. 
With  regard  to  such  combinations  we  may  safely  pronounce, 
that  if  the  use  of  synonymas  even  in  the  more  significant 
parts  of  speech  are  for  the  most  part  incompatible  with  vi- 
vacity and  strength,  the  like  use  in  the  more  insignificant, 
and,  consequently,  weaker  parts,  must  be  still  more  excep- 

Oo 


434  THE  nill-OSOPHY  OF   RIlETOdlO. 

tionable.  Again,  when  the  connoctives  are  of  diflTerent,  but 
not,  of  oppo'^ite  orders,  idioiii  often  permits  the  com-urnMice 
of  two,  thou<i^h  the  reference  of  both  is  the  same;  thai  is, 
though  both  are  intended  merely  to  connect  the  sentence 
with  t!iat  vvliich  preceded.  Thus  the  copuh-itive  is  often  com- 
bined with  the  illative,  and  therefore,  or  with  a  particle  ex- 
pressive of  order,  and  thirdly ;  the  causal  with  a  particle  ex- 
pressing opposition, /(/;•  else,  for  otherwise  ;  a  disjunctive  with 
such  a  particle  or  phrase,  or  on  the  contrary;  an  adversative 
with  an  exceptive,  but  yet;  a  comparative  with  a  copulative, 
as  also.  It  were  endless  to  enumerate  all  that  idiom  permits 
us  m  this  manner  to  conjoin.  It  is  only  by  attending  to  the 
practice  of  gond  authors  that  it  can  perfectly  be  learned.  It 
is  not  to  be  questioned  that  in  some  instances  the  use  of  two 
connectives,  though  not  absolutely  necessary,  may  be  expe- 
dient both  for  rounding  the  period,  and  for  expressing  more 
perfectly  the  relation  of  the  sentences.  But  they  are  much 
more  commonly  the  effect  either  of  negligence  or  of  a  vitia- 
ted taste  in  what  concerns  composition,  and  are  often  to  be 
met  with  in  the  middling  class  of  writers.  The  following 
will  serve  as  an  example  of  this  manner:  "  Although  he  was 
close  taken  up  with  the  affairs  of  the  nation,  nevertheless  he 
did  not  neglect  the  concerns  of  his  friends."  Either  of  the 
conjunctions  would  have  been  better  than  both.  An  author  of 
this  stamp  will  begin  a  sentence  thus  :  "  VVIvereas,  on  the 
other  hand,  supposing  that — "  Who  sees  not,  that  "If,  on 
the  contrary,"  would  express  the  same  connexion  with  more 
energy  as  well  as  brevity  1  When  a  speaker  interlards  his 
discourse  with  such  accumulated  connectives,  he  always 
suggests  to  a  judicious  hearer  the  idea  of  one  that  wants  to 
gam  time,  till  he  cast  about  for  something  to  say.  Yet  this 
fault  is  certainly  more  pardonable  in  speaking  than  in  writing. 
Tlie  composer  may  take  his  own  time,  being  under  no  ne- 
cessity of  writing  faster  than  he  can  provide  and  dispose  his 
materials.  The  slowness  of  his  invention  will  not  be  be- 
trayed to  the  reader  by  any  method  more  readily  than  by 
that  which  the  speaker  is  sometimes  forced  to  use  in  order 
to  conceal  it. 

Thirdly,  as  to  those  cases  in  which  propriety  itself  forbids 
the  concurrence  of  two  conjunctions,  it  is  impossible  we 
should  fall  into  a  mistake.  They  are  always  distinguished 
by  some  repugnancy  in  the  import  of  the  words  which  even 
common  sense  shows  to  be  incompatible.  Such  are  a  cop- 
ulative with  a  disjunctive,  a  causal  with  an  illative,  a  particle 
expressive  of  resemblance  with  one  expressive  of  contrariety. 

Fourthly,  as  to  those  cases  in  which  idiom  alone  forbids 
the  concourse.  These  are  to  be  learned  only  by  practice. 
Thus  idiom  permits  the  junction  of  a  copulative  with  an  illa- 
tive particle,  but  never  with  a  causal.      We  may  say  and 


THE    PHILOSOPHY   OP    RHETORIC.  435 

therefore,  but  not  and  for.  We  are  not  to  seek  the  reason  of 
thisdifTerence  in  the  import  of  the  terms,  but  in  the  custom 
of  applying  tliem.  Again,  idiom  permits  the  use  of  two  cop- 
ulatives, but  not  of  every  two.  We  may  say  and  also,  and 
likewise,  but  not  also  likewise.  Two  causal  conjunctions  are 
not  now  associated,  as /or  because,  nor  two  illatives,  as  there- 
fore then  ;  yet,  in  the  dialect  which  obtained  in  the  beginning 
of  the  last  century,  these  modes  of  expression  were  common. 
Indeed,  some  of  those  heavy  connectives  which  are  now  but 
little  used,  as  moreover, furthermore,  over  and  above,  are  all  but 
combinations  of  synonymous  particles,  and  flow  from  a  dis- 
position which  will  perhaps  ever  be  found  to  prevail  where 
style  is  in  its  infancy. 

The  fifth  and  last  observation  I  shall  make  on  this  subject 
is,  that  it  is  not  necessary  that  all  the  sentences  in  any  kind 
of  composition  should  be  linked  together  by  connective  par- 
ticles. I  know  of  no  rules  that  have  ever  been  laid  down 
for  our  direction  in  this  particular.  But  as  it  always  hath 
been,  so,  for  aught  I  can  perceive,  it  always  will  be,  left  to 
taste  alone  to  determine  when  these  particles  ought  to  be 
used,  and  when  omitted.  All  that  occurs  to  me  as  being  of 
any  service  on  this  head  may  be  comprised  in  the  two  fol- 
lowing remarks.  The  first  is,  that  the  illative  conjunctions, 
the  causal  and  the  disjunctive,  when  they  suit  the  sense, 
can  more  rarely  be  dispensed  with  than  the  copulative.  The 
second  is,  that  the  omission  of  copulatives  always  succeeds 
best  when  the  connection  of  the  thoughts  is  either  very  close 
or  very  distant.  It  is  mostly  in  the  intermediate  cases  that 
the  conjunction  is  deemed  necessary.  When  the  connexion 
in  thought  is  very  distant,  the  copulative  appears  absurd,  and 
when  very  close,  superfluous.  For  the  first  of  these  reasons, 
it  is  seldom  that  we  meet  with  it  in  the  beginning  of  a  chap- 
ter, section,  or  even  p;iragraph,  except  in  the  Bible ;  and  for 
the  second,  that  it  is  frequently  dropped  in  familiar  narrative, 
where  the  connexion  is  so  obvious  as  to  render  it  useless. 


THE    END. 


piy 

/^s4 


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